


A Progressive Revelation

by rei_c



Series: Threefold Path [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blasphemy, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Bondage, Explicit Language, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Knifeplay, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Philosophy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scratching, Sibling Incest, Theology, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-11
Updated: 2009-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21975343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Sam is changing and he doesn't know why. Even worse, the only person who might have an answer is Lilith.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Demons/Dean Winchester, Demons/Sam Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester
Series: Threefold Path [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581844
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are two main understandings of progressive revelation. In the Protestant (Judeo-Christian) belief, it refers to the concept that the sections of the Bible written later contained a fuller revelation of God compared to the earlier sections. (As Charles Hodge puts it, "What at first is only obscurely intimated is gradually unfolded in subsequent parts of the sacred volume, until the truth is revealed in its fullness.") In the Bahá'í tradition, progressive revelation is a core teaching that suggests religious truth is revealed by God progressively and cyclically over time.
> 
> The poem quoted is Percy Bysshe Shelley's "To Coleridge." William Blake's "Nurse's Song" is also quoted.
> 
> \--
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://rei-c.livejournal.com/1107773.html), with fully listed-out pairings, warnings, and dedications.

Sam pants, arches his back, mewls. Dean pushes in further, nails digging in to Sam's hips, past skin, drawing blood. "Come on," Sam mutters, head hanging down, hands and knees scraping against the thin motel carpet. " _Harder_ , Dean, please." 

Dean fucks faster, harder. Sam's legs slide across the carpet, sting as the skin breaks. That ache joins the ache in his palms, the whip marks on his back, the bite marks and bruises scattered all over his body, most of them fresh, some of them almost permanent, made deliberately in the same spot over and over. Sam moans as Dean scratches his nails down Sam's sides, feels the collar tight around his throat as he tries to breathe through the pleasure, the pain. His vision sparkles, black snowflakes dancing at the edges of his sight. Sam comes with a pained groan as Dean lightly smacks Sam's ass, still red from the paddling earlier. 

"So fucking hot," Dean murmurs. "And you're _mine_." Sam nearly collapses to the floor, boneless and wrung dry after a full day of Dean's attention, but Dean holds his hips up, fucks into him until Dean comes. 

Sam feels as Dean pulls out, murmurs wordless displeasure, and feels the swipe of a damp towel over his skin. The towel's warm but the air in the room is, somehow, cold; Sam shivers, feels his muscles twinge in protest. 

Dean tosses the towel in the direction of the bathroom, leans down and licks at Sam's neck, tongue darting over and around the collar. Sam swallows, couldn't get hard again if he tried, but Dean's obsession with seeing his collar around Sam's neck will never get old, not in a million eternities. 

"Let's get you to bed," Dean says. He helps Sam get up from the floor enough to claw his way into bed, tucks the covers tight around Sam's neck, and says, "I'll be there in a minute," before disappearing into the bathroom. He leaves the door open. 

Sam turns his head, blinks and tries to focus on the light, on the sounds Dean's making, but he's _tired_. 

They finished up a hunt three days ago, drove a few hours away and got a room at a cheap hotel. Both of them were too tired for sex but Dean promised Sam a day to themselves. They spent one day recovering, talking to Bobby about their next hunt, spent the next day stocking up on ammo and doing routine maintenance on the Impala. Today, though. Today was theirs and Dean finally delivered on his promise, delivered in style. Between the paddle and the whip, the fucking and sucking and praying, the single-minded intensity Dean possesses and the utter insatiable need Sam has roiling inside of him for his brother, eight hours with only one break for food feels like much, much longer. 

Not that Sam's complaining. It's taken months to get them to this point, to where Dean knows what he needs to do just from looking at Sam, where Dean won't finish up with an apology or guilt brimming in his eyes like tears, where the part of Sam soothed by pain finds complete satisfaction in Dean. Months of hard work, talking that neither of them want to do, inadvertent insults and the wrong sort of pain, but it's worth it. It will always be worth it. 

Dean emerges from the bathroom, naked and unconcerned about it, shuts the light off. He crawls in to bed and Sam scoots closer as much as his body will let him, until he can feel the warmth flowing off of his brother. Dean reaches under the blanket, rubs Sam's back. His fingers pause halfway down, then pull back. 

Sam makes a sleepy noise, half question, half disappointment, and groans when Dean switches on the bedside lamp. 

"Sorry," Dean says, though he doesn't sound as if he means it. "I just wanted to." He trails off, folds the blanket and sheet off of Sam's back. "Shit." 

"What?" Sam asks. Hearing that tone of voice wakes him up, sends adrenaline rushing through his body. "Dean, what is it?" Dean's fingertips skim Sam's back, looking for something by touch. Sam looks at his brother, sees that Dean's eyes are wide open, wonders what the hell is going on. "Dean?" he asks again, this time quietly, worried. 

Dean swallows, lets his hand drop to the bed. He takes a deep breath, looks right at Sam, and says, "There's nothing on your back." Sam frowns, shakes his head, and Dean adds, "No marks. Nothing. Not on your neck, either. Is this." 

No marks. Nothing. 

Dean might like seeing the proof of his possession around Sam's neck but Sam likes feeling it scattered over every inch of his body, proof that he hasn't imagined everything since hell, proof for Ruby and Vetis and Caésinha to see every time they come around. For it all to be gone, after _everything_ today, it makes no sense and Sam _hates_ it.

Sam gets out of bed, stalks to the bathroom, has to see for himself. The light on, Sam stops in front of the mirror and stares. Nothing. Everything's _gone_ like it never happened. 

Meeting Sam's eyes in the mirror, Dean says, "I take it you have no idea what's going on." 

"No," Sam says. "But I know someone who might." 

Dean's mouth twists into a snarl. He nods, though, then leads Sam back to bed and curls tight around him.

\--

Dean's gotten used to Ruby since Sam came out of hell but he doesn't hide that he doesn't _like_ that he's gotten used to her. Sam can see it all over his brother's face when Ruby slides into the booth next to Sam at the small diner where they're eating breakfast.

"Morning, boys," she says, leaning back in the booth, propping her feet up on the booth next to Dean. "Why the fuck am I here?"

Sam tries to hide a grin as Dean looks at Ruby's feet with an expression of disgust and then looks at the ceiling, rolls his eyes. Sam pushes his plate over for Ruby, lets her pick at bacon and toast as he says, "We have an issue. Well. I have an issue." 

Ruby eyes him carefully, scans over the collar and lets her eyes keep going lower. They flick back up a moment later and she frowns, tilts her head to one side. "Dean not taking good care of you, Sam? Do I need to make sure you're all right?" 

The concern in her voice goes a long way to settling him; he ducks his head, smiles, presses his thigh against hers. It's been close to six weeks since he's seen her and feeling her across thousands of miles just isn't the same. He's _missed_ her and she him, if the way she's leaning into him is any indication. Prince and princess, and Dean can hate it all he wants because there isn't a thing any of them can do to change it. 

"I'm fine," Sam says. "Actually, that's the problem." He looks across the table, knows he could ask Ruby to hurt him so they can all see him heal but Dean is here and behaving. Sam stretches out his hand, raises an eyebrow when Dean looks at him. 

He sighs as Dean reaches out, digs three nails into Sam's arm and claws his way down from elbow to wrist. The sting takes a moment to sink in before blood starts to well up. Ruby's watching, all three of them are, and Sam can see his arm start to heal before he feels it, blood spreading out and fading back into his skin, flesh knitting back together. 

"Huh," Ruby says. "I didn't know you could do that." She looks up, meets Sam's eyes, risks a quick glance at Dean. "You. You didn't either, did you." 

Sam shakes his head. Dean slumps back in his booth. 

Ruby sighs. "Well, fuck."

"What's wrong?" Sam asks, angling his body slightly to face her. He can feel something in their bond, something worried. She doesn't look as cocky as normal, has a sheen of anxiety in her eyes that Sam doesn't care for. "Proserpine?" he asks, gentle. "What is it?"

Dean grits his teeth, hearing Ruby's true name. He doesn't say anything, though, learnt not to after the first half dozen times. 

Ruby looks at Sam, gives him a grin that doesn't reach her eyes. She places her arm on the table, rolls up a sleeve, and does to herself what Dean just did to Sam. Within three minutes, all of the marks from her arm are gone as well. Sam frowns, doesn't understand. 

"But that's normal," Dean says, just what Sam had been thinking as well. "Demons can always heal their hosts. It's why they don't." He pauses, looks at Sam. "Is that what you're doing? Are you." Dean stops there, presses his lips together. 

"Looks like you might be a little more unique than we thought," Ruby says. She's thoughtful, asks, a moment later, "How long has this been happening?"

Sam looks at Dean, both of them trying to think back. Ruby nibbles on the piece of toast, watching them, waiting for an answer. "It's no good looking at me," Dean finally says. His voice is carefully even and his face is blank. "Your pain threshold is so out of whack. I never know how bad anything is. I can guess, but that's about it." 

"Your guesses are better than most," Ruby says before Sam can. "When you fuck, how long does it take before the bruises wear off?" 

Dean's eyes narrow. "Just because I've seen more of you than I want to doesn't mean I'm telling you _anything_ about our." Sam shakes his head and Dean stops talking immediately. What they do in the bedroom, it's none of Ruby's business and they both know that. Dean takes a deep breath, tries to calm down even as his eyes flash acknowledgement at Sam. Dean breathes, in and out, and Sam watches, waits, but Dean finally shakes his head. "I can't do this. When you're done, Sam, I'll be in the car. And you, you little." 

"So nice to see you again, Dean," Ruby says, cutting Dean off with a smile that couldn't melt butter. "Can't wait for next time." 

Sam sighs as Dean stomps away. The two waitresses behind the counter flinch as the door slams, both of them looking over at Sam and Ruby, still sitting side by side, no space between their bodies to speak of. Sam glances over, makes eye contact with one of them, gives her an apologetic shrug. She smiles, turns back to the coffeepot. 

"Ruby," Sam says, soft, chiding. "Please."

The softest growl slips out of Ruby's mouth as she leans her head down on Sam's shoulders, traces out the pattern of water droplets on the table. They hiss and smoke, evaporating instantly. "Hell is fluid, Sam," she says. "Remember, back when you chose Vetis? Hell shifted on its axis and we all felt it. We might be subject to laws older than time but we change within those rules. We adapt, we _have_ to or we risk losing the war entirely. But things you've done since you've been back on earth, things like naming Vetis as your right hand, they've changed hell as well. Shaped it, into something less mother's image and more your own." 

"And the healing is part of that," Sam says, half a question. 

"Among other things," Ruby replies. "But yeah, let's focus on that for now. You're one of us, Sam, but no one expected you to manifest this skill until after you died and took your rightful place in hell. There's just no way to know what's going on, not with you." 

Sam had been afraid of that. He should expect things like this now, being a demon at the same time he's still human, but, like so many things, it hasn't sunken in yet. Freak, he thinks, and takes a sip of coffee, tries to steady himself. The coffee's bitter, tastes stale in his mouth.

“Can you heal others?” Ruby asks. 

“Never tried,” Sam says. “That isn't. You think I could? Like your mother can?” 

Ruby hums. “No idea. I know that you won't want to hear this but you should call her. If anyone has the answers, mother will.” 

Dean can't stand Ruby, who she is and what she is to Sam. He's never, _never_ , going to like Lilith just on principle, forget everything Sam hasn't told Dean about hell. If Sam has to call her for answers, well. He's not sure he'd want to tell Dean about it until he's already made the call. It's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission when it comes to some things.

“Do you still have the Goblet?" Ruby asks. 

Sam plucks the connection he has with Caésinha. “I gave the goblet to Caésinha for safekeeping. He'll know where it is or he'll be going back to hell, Wrath and Pride's choice or not.” 

Ruby's smile shows teeth. She places a hand high on Sam's thigh, lets her thumb brush over his crotch, leans to sniff behind his ear. 

“Am I interrupting?”

Ruby's snarl is full-fledged this time, not hiding anything from the woman Caésinha's inhabiting. Caésinha raises an eyebrow, sits down across from them. She doesn't look at all impressed with Ruby; Sam knows that's not a good sign. He shakes his head but doesn't say anything. 

“You might be one of Pride's favourites,” Ruby says, voice tight as her hand squeezes Sam's thigh, nails digging pinpricks into the denim. “But I have _never_ liked you. Show some fucking respect, Caésinha, or I won't restrain myself.” Ruby's eyes flash black. 

Caésinha doesn't back down but she does incline her head, murmurs, “Princess. What can I do for you?”

Sam places a hand over Ruby's, exchanges a glance with her. Ruby isn't happy but she quiets, stills. “The Goblet of Barbatos,” Sam says. “You have it.” It isn't a question. 

“Of course,” Caésinha says. “You wish for me to retrieve it?” Her eyes gleam. 

“Caésinha,” Sam says. He twists on the link between them, waits for her to flinch with the full force of the anger leaking through his barriers. “When you get it back, give it to Vetis. He'll bring it to me.” 

The demon pales. “General, have I.” 

Ruby taps her nails against the table. “Leave, little demon. Your betters are trying to get some work done.” 

Caésinha stands, unsteady, and nods. “Princess. General. Your right hand will have the Goblet in a matter of minutes.” 

\--

Transporting a physical object, demonic or otherwise, will take time. Ruby slides out of the booth, slips out the back after giving Sam a kiss and grinding the heel of her boot on the top of Sam's foot. Sam takes a minute to get his heart rate back to normal and goes out to the car, getting in on the passenger side and leaning over, kissing Dean before anything else. 

Dean tastes sour, coffee and sausage, wrath and envy underneath. He doesn't say a word as Sam pulls back, buckles his seat belt, just eyes Sam carefully and drives back to the motel in silence. 

Once they're in their room, Dean pushes Sam up against the door, bites his possession into every inch of Sam's neck, blood and bruises left in the wake of his mouth. Sam pulls Dean closer, bodies flush against one another. Dean's hard, grinds up against Sam. 

"We have to," Sam starts to say, words stuttering to a halt as Dean's hands pop the button on Sam's jeans, slide inside and next to skin. "Dean. Bobby." 

Dean groans, mutters, "Fucking buzzkill," but doesn't stop. 

Both of them know they should. Bobby's given them a lead on a new case, demons in Montana. Word's been going around the hunter community for the last couple months, rumours about Sam, what he is, how he got Dean out of the deal. To show anything less than a gung-ho hunter attitude could be potentially disastrous at this time and they've already taken two extra days getting up to Missoula. 

Sam should stop. He should put a stop to this before it goes any further but then Dean's sliding to his knees and telling Sam not to move with a voice that goes in Sam's ears and straight to his dick. Sam swallows, thumps his head back against the door, and tries his best to hold completely still. 

It doesn't take long before Sam's panting, breath tight with the collar constricting his throat. He fights the urge to thrust into Dean's mouth or run his hands over Dean's head. "God," he says, the word cutting up the inside of his mouth, breaking a line on his bottom lip. " _Dean_." 

Sam comes, spills down Dean's throat while Dean's fingers press into the groove of Sam's hips, leave bruises. 

"Don't let them heal," Dean says. His voice is wrecked, rasping and shredded. "Don't. Keep them, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Sam promises, finally moving, hesitant at first but faster when Dean doesn't say anything. His hands circle around Dean's wrists and Sam drops to his knees, licks his own taste out of Dean's mouth. "Let me," he says between kisses, "let me, please? Please, Dean, yeah?" Fingers scrabbling for Dean's jeans, he groans when Dean stops him, asks, "Why? I want to, _Dean_." 

Dean shushes him, calms him, finally says, "We need to get going. You're right, we've wasted too much time. Besides," he adds, wicked grin on his face when Sam finally looks up, "I want to take my time fucking you. I have a lot of marks to replace."

Sam swallows, nods. 

\--

The rest of the drive to Missoula goes by quickly, as if knowing what's waiting for them on the other end is giving the Impala wings. Sam keeps an ounce of awareness on his bond with Vetis, can feel Vetis moving to their location, hopes the demon will hurry. He can already tell that the marks Dean pressed into his hips have healed. 

Dean finds a motel on the outskirts of town, spins a story about how they've come on a surprise visit to see their little sister, tucked away at UM-Missoula. The woman behind the counter nods, smiles, asks a few polite questions, and hands Dean the key to the room at the end of the hall, obviously putting together 'brothers' and 'college,' and coming up with 'noise.' 

Once they're unpacked, have the salt circles and wards up around doors and windows, Sam sits down on the edge of a bed and lets down his barriers. He reaches out, finds the demon they were sent here to hunt and sends it a very clear message to stay put. 

"West side," he says, opening his eyes and looking at Dean. "Somewhere near the airport. I told it to hold tight." 

Dean nods, lips pressed together in a thin line. Sam opens his mouth but Dean shakes his head; Sam sits back, waits. He already knows what Dean's going to ask: whether or not they'll do their job and kick this one out of its host and back to hell. Dean hasn't been happy, sending demons away instead of exorcising them, something about that going against every grain of hunter responsibility etched into Dean's very soul. 

Still, Sam's the prince of hell and Dean's counting on going to hell after he dies, prepared to sacrifice his redemption to be with Sam. He's getting better at dealing with the demons, hates them but can stand in the presence of one without going straight for his gun now. Dean just pours all of his guilt, his resentment and fear and hate, into everything else they hunt. Sam almost feels sorry for everything Dean's killed since Charleston. 

"Are we going to give this one any Latin?" Dean finally asks, eyes shadowed, focused on Sam's collar like seeing it around Sam's throat settles him just as much as feeling it does for Sam. 

Prepared to tell Dean no, Sam jumps when there's a knock on the door. He glances at the door, then back at Dean, shaking his head to let Dean know this isn't a demon, isn't a visitor for him. Dean frowns, grabs a gun, and calls out, "Who is it?" 

"Tamara Williams," the person outside says. "From outside Lincoln. Remember me?" 

Her voice, yes, it's familiar. Sam thinks back to that hunt, the first time he met Lilith's magnificent seven. Tamara's husband died at the hands of Gluttony; Sam gets chills, remembers the weight of Gluttony's tongue in his mouth, flavours of couscous and saffron, fingers in his ass and the taste of his own come, scooped into his mouth on Lilith's fingers. 

Sam takes a deep breath, looks down at the floor as his head pounds and his dick hardens at the memory. Dean makes a noise and Sam swallows, steadies himself and looks up, nods. 

Dean doesn't seem pleased, exactly, as he opens the door wide enough for Tamara to slip in over the salt line. She does, taking in their protections; Sam's never been more relieved that Dean still insists on all the warding, that Dean will push Sam over salt and through traps for the pain of it.

"Winchesters," she says, nodding brusquely. Sam stands, takes Tamara in. She has deep hollows under her eyes, the tell-tale signs of a gun tucked into her jeans, but she looks much the same as she did in Nebraska. "Glad you finally made it. Some of us were getting worried." 

"But not you," Dean says, tilting his head a little, enough to look non-threatening, like the statement was more of a question. 

Tamara holds up her hands, gives them both the hint of a smile. "Not me." Her smile is hard but not, Sam thinks, necessarily unfriendly. "I knew you'd show up eventually and I knew I'd be the one here waiting. Made for a fight but you hunters, you're all the same. Underestimate the force of a woman's punch and you go down every time." 

Sam nods, shoves his hands in his pocket. Tamara's eyes pick out the collar quickly but she doesn't say anything about it. "What was the fight about, Tamara?" It's an easy question to answer, sort of pointless to even ask, but they all know that. It's _how_ Tamara replies, what she'll say, that interests Sam. 

As if Tamara knows exactly what Sam's thinking, she grins, shows teeth. "Some people don't believe I always tell the truth about my hunts," she says. "Don't believe I know what I see with my own two eyes, no matter what else is happening." 

"If there's anything we can do to help," Dean says, stopping there. He glances at Sam and Sam nods just enough for Dean to see. She's an ally, an unexpected ally who seems to have gone a bit more feral since her husband died, more violent and prone to acts of recklessness, judging by the new scars on her arms, the long jagged mark of a hungry animal with claws on her face. Still, allies can't be dismissed out of hand. 

Dean steps away from the door, puts his gun down on the table. "You been in town long?" he asks, sitting down. Sam sits as well, back on the bed, and Tamara enters the room, scanning the open bathroom door, the runes on the windows, the salt near every entry-point. She finally nods, reluctantly impressed with how thorough they are, Sam hopes, and closes the door behind her, leans on it and crosses her arms. 

"Long enough that I've been waiting," she says. "Bobby said he called you a couple days ago. What took so long?" 

They don't answer to her. Dean looks as if he's about to remind her of that, so Sam says, "Recovering from our last hunt," before Dean can open his mouth. "There was a poltergeist. It knocked me around a little and Dean was being too overprotective to come up right away."

There are so many undercurrents in the room, Sam could almost cut them with a knife. Tamara's watching them both, Dean's keeping himself tightly in check but not tightly enough, and Sam's trying to balance them both against the demon west of the airport and another demon he can feel moving in on their location. He and Dean are here to exorcise the demon and Tamara's here to watch them do it, to take notes on them and report back; the only good thing about this entire situation is that the other hunters sent _Tamara_ , someone who has, if not _good_ memories of them then at least professional memories. 

Tamara smiles like Sam's said something funny but she's nodding as well. "I've run up against a few nasty ones myself," she says. "Glad you're okay. When are we dealing with this demon?"

"Unless you know where it is," Dean says, "we'll need to find it first."

"Lucky for me, I know a guy," Tamara says. 

She reaches up, pulls a necklace out from where it's been hiding under his shirt. The chain's long, silver, and Sam can feel the blessing on the metal from halfway across the room, it's that potent. The stone on the end of the chain, though, that sings to him, a siren call of familiar power that slides against his barriers and tries to tempt him into lowering them. 

Dean doesn't look impressed, not until he asks what the stone is and Tamara replies, "Sodalite. Blessed by a human priest, tuned by a demon's child, touched by a faery mother, carved by a hoodoo witch, set by a pagan silversmith, immersed in holy water, dried with the screams of the damned." 

Silver will hold the blessings of the priest and the fae both, but sodalite as a mineral's never done well with maintaining the light side of magic; the blessings never touched _this_ gem. The sodalite's working with the silver, a good combination of power and sympathies, but it's been handled by some heavy-duty darkness. No wonder it was calling to Sam. 

"That must have cost a fortune," Dean says, watching carefully -- just as Sam is -- as Tamara tucks it back under her shirt. 

"Worth every penny," Tamara says. 

She doesn't go into any more detail about the necklace or where she got it from. Sam can guess, based on the particular feeling of the demon who touched it, but to know the dealer of the gem itself, that would be better. He's tempted to ask outright, ignore subtlety, but his connection with Ruby pulls tight. 

Sam's distracted, almost misses it as Tamara says, "I scryed for the demon once I got into town. It's got a home base set up out by the airport. You should get some dinner and then give me a call. We can go after it tonight." 

Dean looks at Sam; Sam shrugs and feels the collar tight around his neck, the lack of bruises tightening his skin and digging aches into his bones. "Sounds good," Dean says. "Where are you staying?" 

Tamara's smile drops off as she reaches behind her, opens the door and starts sliding out. "The other end of the line," she says, nodding in the direction of the lobby and the other half of the motel stretching out from there. "I guess you could always knock on the door. Don't think for one second I'm riding in your car, though. We take two vehicles." 

"Sure," Dean says, just as loose and easy as Tamara, which is, in Sam's opinion, not loose or easy at all. 

Tamara nods, backs out of the room and makes sure the door is shut. Dean turns to Sam, says, "What the _hell_." 

Sam lets out a breath, hangs his head lower. Tamara being here, it's the best they couldn't have asked for and the worst they were expecting. Still, it could be worse. She's predisposed to believe them and she owes them, too; they saved her life even if they couldn't save her husband's. "I think we got lucky on this one," he finally says. 

"Yeah," Dean replies, "but what the _fuck_. Did she seem, I dunno, all right to you?" 

"She's hunting alone," Sam says, gently. He remembers the weeks without Dean after Broward County, can guess what Dean was like when Sam was at Stanford. Tamara and Isaac were in love; she was willing to die with him, for him. To go on, to keep hunting and stay alive doing so alone, that changes a person. 

Dean grunts, giving in without too much of a surrender, and mutters, "I still think we have to be careful around her. No telling what she's willing to do to get the job done." 

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn't disagree. 

\--

Dean goes out alone to get food and beer. Neither of them are thrilled with their options for delivery but they can't leave their room unattended with Tamara nearby; that would be an invitation for trouble. Sam stays in the room, has the television on for noise and the laptop open to check his email when there's a knock on the door. 

It can't be Dean, not that quickly, and Sam felt Ruby when Tamara was here, so he's not surprised to open the door and see Ruby standing there checking her nails. 

"We have another hunter staying here," Sam says, grinning as Ruby slides past him. "Well, not here, but at the other end of the motel. Tamara. You might remember her from Lincoln." 

"Not my problem," Ruby says. She waits for Sam to close the door, then slams him against it. Her hands are fisted in his shirt, pushing him hard enough to bruise, and her kiss is much the same when she leans forward. Her lips are dry and crack against Sam's, spill blood into their mouths as she bites her way deeper. 

One heel of her boot grinds into the top of Sam's foot and he groans, hands sliding around her waist to cup her ass, pull her closer. " _Proserpine_ ," he says, when she's decided to try and tear his neck apart with her teeth. "What are. Not that I don't. _Fuck_." 

Ruby laughs, the sound vibrating against Sam's chest. Her fingers play with the button of Sam's jeans, light and teasing movements that do nothing for his self-control. "I would if you'd let me, Sam," she murmurs. "All you have to do is ask. It's been so long, hasn't it? Don't you miss me?"

"I do," Sam replies. "You know I do. But Dean, he." 

Sam stops there; Ruby already knows what he's going to say. Dean put his foot down months ago, only two weeks after Sam knelt at Dean's feet and bowed his head voluntarily for a collar. There hasn't been a _need_ for Ruby, no need except for the part of him as hell's prince that cries out for her, that desperately misses her. It's harder to say no with every day that passes and he's been sorely tempted, is now. 

Only the feel of Dean's collar tightening his breath and the sound of the Impala outside gives Sam the strength to shake his head and move away from her. 

By the time Dean comes inside, Ruby's sitting on a chair with her feet propped up on the table and Sam's sitting on the bed. He's already healed. Dean eyes them both but doesn't say anything, just drops three bags of Chinese on the table and shoves Ruby's feet off. 

\--

Dean eats the beef and broccoli, Ruby goes after the chow mein, and Sam's almost too tense to taste the fried rice he's half-heartedly picking at. Ruby hasn't said anything about why she's here but Sam can guess. The only problem? He hasn't exactly mentioned a conversation with Lilith to his brother so Dean won't know why she's hanging around. 

It doesn't take long for Dean to bring it up, either. He shoves a doughnut in his mouth, chews and swallows, then says, "So, Ruby. Not that it isn't good to see you." Ruby gives Dean the finger and Sam wants to hide his face in his hands as Dean's expression turns feral, teeth showing as he smiles. "Oh, you're _so_ not my type, sweetheart, and it's been made clear that Sam's off-limits. What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I've been tracking a stone," Ruby says, flicking her chopsticks at Dean. "Imagine my surprise when I saw it'd moved right to where Sam was sent to hunt. Anything you wanna tell me, Dean?"

Sam's frowning when Dean looks at him. He never knows what Ruby's doing at any given moment, especially when it comes to any missions she's been given. Hearing she's on the trail of the sodalite isn't all that shocking but Sam has to ask, "How long have you been tracking it?" because something doesn't seem like it adds up. 

Ruby's smile is tight as she picks through the bottom of the take-out carton, snags a water chestnut and takes a delicate bite out of it. Sam stares at her teeth and reaches up to his neck, strokes his collar. 

"About the last century," Ruby says, and her tone is so flippant that Sam doesn't process the answer for a few seconds. 

That gives Dean enough time to react, to sit up, lean forward, and say, " _How_ long? What's with this stone that makes it worth that much?" Ruby's eyes flick to Dean, then Sam, and she smiles in lieu of answering, picking up another carton and digging her chopsticks into white rice. Dean's nostrils flare and Sam knows his brother's doing his best to keep calm. Still, he can't help flinching when Dean turns to him, eyes narrowed and lips pressed thin. "Sam? You saw the stone. What makes it so special?"

"Tamara said it was tuned by a demon's child," Sam says. "What she didn't say was that the demon's child was a demon herself."

"Mother wasn't exactly happy with me after that," Ruby adds. "One more thing in a long line of things, but," she trails off, shrugging as she gets another bite of rice. 

Dean gapes, looks between them. "Wait. Your _mother_ is a demon? But wouldn't that." He stops, narrows his eyes as he focuses on Ruby. "You told me you used to be human. You said." He stops there, sounds utterly bewildered.

"Demons lie," Ruby replies, smile sweet as saccharine. "You should believe your brother when he tells you things; he's human enough to be honest every once in a while."

Dean stares, finally says, "Okay. But what about that stone makes it so important that your _mother_ would be pissed off about it?" 

"It was more the fact that it fell out of my hands. It was made for someone special and I let it get taken." Ruby seems casual, almost dismissive, but Sam can feel her wariness, can see the tension written in every line of her body. He longs to reassure her, to hold her tight and sink deep inside her; Sam sits on his hands, forces himself to stay perched on the edge of the bed. 

"And you've been," Sam starts to say, stops himself and says, instead, "The dealer she bought it from. Whoever that was, they were hiding it somehow." He feels bowled over when Ruby hums her agreement. Being able to hide something like that from the very demon who tuned it, that's supposed to be impossible. Lots of things happening these days are supposed to be impossible. "When did it appear again?"

Ruby digs through Sam's discarded fried rice for a piece of shrimp, lets a small murmur of triumph when she ends up with two on her chopsticks. "Three weeks ago," she says, before baring her teeth. Sam watches her lips part around the shrimp, knows what it's like to feel those lips on him; he sees a flash of her teeth and has to look away, look at Dean. 

Dean's eyes are focused on Sam. Something is moving in them, something Sam doesn't understand, doesn't know how to interpret, but he thinks he's seen it before. From when or where, he can't remember, but something about the look scares him, propels him off the bed and over to the mini-fridge, to take out a bottle of vitamin water. It gives his hands something to do, takes him away from the weight of Dean's stare and Ruby's gaze.

He walks over to the window, looks outside and sees Tamara digging through the trunk of her car. She must've found whatever she was searching for moments before Sam came to the window; she closes the trunk and sees Sam standing at the window. A mocking wave and she crosses the parking lot with a loping stride, something that makes Sam think of very large, very dangerous cats. 

"She feels like she killed her husband three times," Sam says before he can stop himself. Something twists in the air, rings with the force of a thousand funeral bells. Sam's blood runs hot and violent through his veins, every aspect of every gift grounding him to the words of prophecy he just spoke.

He hears someone behind him moving but doesn't know who until Dean's hand is on his shoulder, squeezing tight. "What does that mean, Sam?" Dean asks. He's speaking low, warm, as if Ruby isn't there, but Sam isn't fooled by the tone. Dean's body language is more telling, harder for Dean to hide, and the way Dean's touching him, is pressed up against him with the lines of a tense body, it says Dean's worried, furious. 

Sam doesn't turn around, just reaches across his chest and places his hand on top of Dean's. He can't look at Ruby, doesn't want to see what's in her eyes. "When she couldn't do anything to stop him from listening to Gluttony, when she left him in the bar, and when she drove a stake of holy wood through his chest. Three times she killed him." 

"Three times she'll die," Ruby says. Dean's fingers dig in for a second before he forces himself to relax them. "Are you sure, Sam?" 

"Someone gonna explain to me what that means?" Dean asks. This time he doesn't even bother hiding his frustration. " _Sam_?" 

Sam finally turns, Dean's hand sliding off of him reluctantly, and locks eyes with Ruby. She's not smiling and neither is Sam. He waits for her agreement and when she rolls her eyes, turns back to the fried rice, Sam looks at his brother. "Guilt is a powerful thing," he says. Dean nods, slowly. "And doing things three times, that's powerful as well." 

Dean's eyes narrow. "What's going to happen to her? She'll die three times, that's what you said. But Isaac didn't _die_ three times, just once." 

"That's not what she thinks," Ruby says. Sam's eyes flick to her, see her content to steal Dean's beer and take long, deep swallows. "It's the rule of three, Dean." 

"What, like the Wiccan thing?" Dean asks, glancing between Sam and Ruby. 

Ruby smiles, says, "Not exactly. And before you ask, no, I don't know how it's going to happen. But there are laws that govern people who have contact with the supernatural. Even if they aren't aware of them, they're subject to them."

Deep magic, Sam thinks, and laws older than time. He asks Ruby, "Will you wait until she's dead or will you take the sodalite now? It won't be long, not when Isaac's deaths happened within hours of each other." 

Dean gapes, says, "Wait, hold on, just. _Fuck_. She's made it this long, who's to say she isn't going to last another ten years? Not to mention, isn't that a little _cold_ , even for us?"

"Sam called in the debt," Ruby said. "Just now. So, no, it won't be long."

"You called in the debt," Dean echoes, tone flat. His eyes flick from Ruby to Sam. "If you'd kept your mouth shut, she'd be fine?" Ruby stands up, says Dean's name, but Dean whirls to glare at her, snarls, "Don't say a word, you _fucking bitch_. _Leave_."

Ruby looks at Dean, not a glare, not anything threatening, then she smiles. Sam hasn't seen her smile like that since the motel room in Charleston where she whipped his back to shreds in front of Dean. "I'm going," she says, sweet as sugar. "I'll see you soon. Both of you." 

She slides out of the room, door closing behind her with a quiet click. Sam takes one step to go after her but Dean says his name and Sam freezes mid-stride. He's torn, like always, torn between Dean and Ruby, between his two different families, between his life as a hunter and his life as Azazel's heir, hell's prince. More than ever, Sam wants to go after Ruby, to see that smile on her face again, cruel and sleek and deadly. 

He turns his back to the door, looks at his brother. 

"Do you want to give me that collar back?" Dean asks. 

Sam's heart pounds loud enough to drown out every other noise save Dean's breathing. He stares, can feel his lungs constrict and search for air, can feel the panic coming back on. "No," he breathes. "Dean, no, never, I swear, _never_." 

Dean nods once. He sits down again, legs spread, and says, "Come here." 

Sam moves without hesitation, without thought, and kneels between Dean's legs. Dean doesn't often get like this, so demanding without reservation; Sam's never _asked_ Dean to act like this but he would if he knew how Dean would react. It eases something inside of him, makes all of the muscles in his body relax as Dean lifts a hand to run through Sam's hair, lets it rest heavy on Sam's head. 

"We're going to go with Tamara to find the demon," Dean says. "Do you have a plan?" 

Without looking up, without moving at all, Sam says, "I'll silence the demon and I'll say the exorcism. Tamara will be able to tell everyone that I can and the demon won't be able to give anything away. Tamara will probably try to get some holy water on me as well."

Dean hums. "You're going to hide the effects," he says. It isn't a question and Sam doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. Dean goes on, adds, "When we get back, you will let me see them." They sit there a moment longer, then Dean says, "Okay. Okay. We'll go soon." 

Sam gets up, understanding without words that the moment's over. He wishes it wasn't, wishes that they didn't have a hunt and that he could kneel there like that forever, but Sam hasn't made a lifetime out of wishing. "If I'd known what I was saying, I would've stopped," he murmurs, turning away from Dean. "But there are some things even I can't control." 

Dean doesn't say anything. 

\--

They follow Tamara past the airport and to a warehouse off Broadway Avenue. She pulls in first and Dean's right behind, parks the Impala next to her Camaro and steps out. Dean looks around as Tamara's pulling out a bottle of holy water and a crossbow. 

"Not much here," Dean says. "Why would a demon hole up in a warehouse?" 

"Why would a demon do anything?" Tamara asks in reply, walking over to them. "The stone says it's here and it is. Who's taking point?" 

Dean lifts two fingers and gives Tamara a cocky smile. "I am." Sam frowns, opens his mouth, but Dean takes out a bottle of holy water and says, "Let's do this," before Sam can say anything. 

Now that they're going in, Sam right behind Dean, Tamara behind them both, it makes a lot more sense. Dean distracts the demon long enough for Sam to twist the connection tight, turn the demon mute save for laughter or screams, and for Tamara to use her crossbow to shoot an arrow made of holy wood into the demon, pinning the demon to the wall. 

Sam starts reciting an exorcism before the demon can do anything or open its mouth, says it straight from memory and welcomes the pain. Dean's holy water splashes the demon and it howls, steams, and gets a few drops on Sam. "Dude," Sam says. "Don't distract me," and goes back to the exorcism. 

Tamara's seen it all. 

\--

The demon dispatched, Tamara pulls the arrow from the body and studies the arrowhead. "Fucked," she says, tossing it over her shoulder. 

Sam kneels next to the human, winces at the look of the wound. The arrow went all the way through and the wound is shedding blood at a fast rate. "He's still alive," Sam says. "We should get him to a hospital, call 9-1-1." 

Dean's moving when Tamara takes a gun out of her coat and shoots one bullet into the victim's forehead. Sam flinches backwards as blood splatters his face. 

"Demons taint," Tamara says. "I did him a favour. I trust you two can clean up? Only, there are a few people waiting to hear what I have to say about this hunt and seeing as you came in late." She doesn't wait for an answer, just gives them both a hard smile and pulls out her phone as she leaves. 

After her Camaro's pulled away from the building and the sounds of the engine have long since faded, Dean says, "I don't remember her being such a bitch." 

Sam hunted for weeks without Dean, after the Mystery Spot. By the time the Trickster let Sam find him, Sam had been willing to kill innocents to get Dean back. Tamara? Tamara has no expectation of ever seeing Isaac again and it's been years since he died. "She has no hope," Sam murmurs, reaching out to close the dead kid's eyes. 

\--

Dean picks up the arrow, breaks the shaft in half and holds onto both pieces. They hear sirens in the distance and pause but the noise doesn't get any louder and they let out twin sighs of relief. Dean drags the body out back, Sam gets some salt, gasoline, and a book of matches. They stay as the kid burns, then Dean drives back to the motel. 

Once they're inside and Sam's showered, he stands in the middle of the room naked except for the collar around his throat. Dean's down to his jeans, seems content to stand there and stare at Sam. 

"I want to see," Dean says. 

Sam lets the barrier down that turns the physical pain into something unseen. Burns appear all over his chest and arm from the holy water Dean splashed on him, and his fingers turn red with blisters from where he touched the palo santo arrow. The exorcism was speech and so there isn't much he can do to show Dean the effects of that except open his mouth for inspection. His tongue is swollen and seeping sluggish blood, as are his lips. 

" _Exorcizo te_ ," Dean says, and Sam stiffens, the words digging into his spine and causing spots of purple-blue to bloom all over his back and chest. " _Omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis._ "

Every word has punched a bruise into Sam's skin and the name of God has torn his flesh apart. Jagged tears like claw-marks rip across Sam's chest; he drops to his knees with the pain of it but doesn't say anything, doesn't scream, doesn't make a sound. 

Dean steps closer and Sam looks up, meets his brother's gaze. There's horror in Dean's eyes, horror and something manic, too, something that has Dean breathing out, "Jesus." Sam flinches as a handprint blooms on one cheek and his nose starts bleeding. "Sam, you." 

He stops there; Sam drops his head, suddenly ashamed without knowing why. He's hard, cock aching, and covered in blood and bruises despite the shower he just had to clean the smell of a burning body from his skin and hair. He has to remind himself, kneeling there: he chose this. He accepted Dean's collar, he _wanted_ it then and still does, and whatever Dean's thinking, this is _Sam's_ choice, Sam's decision. He has nothing to be ashamed of and everything to be proud of. 

Sam lifts his head, jaw squared and chin jutting in defiance. Lilith would have smiled and Sycorax would have laughed. Dean just looks desperate. For what, Sam doesn't know, not until Dean says, "Open your mouth," and pulls down the zipper on his jeans. 

Dean fucks his mouth, hard and punishing without any give, barely enough air for Sam to keep breathing. He's light-headed, reeling with the taste and sound of Dean. When Dean finally comes, it's all over Sam's face and mingles with the tears sliding down his cheeks. 

Usually an orgasm will calm Dean down but not this time. He tells Sam not to move and starts walking around Sam, praying. Sam holds still as best he can but by the time Dean's finished a half dozen Hail Marys and Our Fathers, he's shuddering with the effort. Everything hurts and his body feels like one mass of pain, skin cut and torn, bruises everywhere. Sam blinks, feels the skin on his face pull from black eyes and a broken nose, possible a fractured cheekbone.

Dean never said Sam had to keep quiet; Sam says, "Dean?" in a soft voice that speaks nothing of the agony he's feeling and isn't prepared for Dean to drop to his knees behind Sam. 

"Sorry, so sorry," Dean murmurs, nose pressed to Sam's neck, lips moving above the collar. "Sam, I'm so sorry but I." 

"You don't need to apologise," Sam says. 

Dean doesn't say anything else, just stands up and goes into the bathroom. For a split second, Sam's left swaying in the wake of Dean's absence. He starts to panic, forces himself to calm down, especially when he can hear Dean turn on the sink faucets. 

Thinking that Dean's just washing his hands or face, Sam's taken off-guard when Dean comes back and kneels down next to Sam again, this time in front of him, and starts washing him off with a damp towel. "You don't have," he starts to say. 

"I know," Dean says, cutting him off. "But I'm going to anyway." He presses too hard against one of the bruises; Sam hisses before he can help himself. "Sam, I." 

"It's all right," Sam says. "It's okay." 

Dean's lips purse tight as he draws the towel down Sam's cheek, wiping off blood and come and tears, clearing the skin to see the bruises and cuts. "I know you think that," Dean murmurs. "But it really isn't." Sam opens his mouth and Dean puts a finger on Sam's lips. "Let me. Please," he adds, like something has been torn from his throat, something he hadn't planned on sharing. 

Sam studies his brother, knows that Dean is committing penance for something that isn't a sin. He nods. "Okay," he says, reaching out to graze his fingers against Dean's throat. For the first time, his eyes take in the dried blood on Dean's forehead, the signs of stigmata. Sam swallows and lowers his eyes. 

\--

After Dean's wiped off every trace of blood from Sam's body, he leads Sam to the bed, has Sam settle carefully on his back. Sam doesn't have the heart or will to tell Dean that all of the internal injuries are already mending; his cheekbone doesn't ache so bad and the cuts that went in deep are healing from the inside out. The ones on his skin will knit together last and they pull as Dean stretches him open with more lube than they ever use, going slower than they ever do. 

This, too, is apology and penance, and so is the way Dean finally slides inside of him, gentle, cautious. They don't fuck and they don't make love; Dean rocks carefully and Sam's orgasm builds at a slow, mellow pace that has him languid and smiling when it finally hits, almost half-asleep from the sheer sweetness of it all. Dean comes with a groan but doesn't linger, pulling out even before his breathing's back to normal. 

Sam closes his eyes, adjusts his hips, and cuddles into his brother once Dean's settled. It takes a long time for Dean to relax enough to hold Sam, longer still for Sam to fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

At first, Sam thinks the tapping on the door is in his dreams, that or someone in the room next to theirs doing something loud and obnoxious for this time of day. He rolls over, buries his face in Dean's shoulder, and tries to ignore it. The tapping doesn't stop; Sam groans, mutters something unintelligible even to himself. 

"It's our door, you idiot," Dean grumps, voice ragged with not-enough-sleep and too much exhaustion from what they did last night. "And since _you_ are on _me_ , you get to answer it." 

Sam mutters back something about positions that has Dean smacking the back of his head but he gets up, stretches and finds a pair of sweats to pull on. It's only as he's doing so that he notices: again, he's entirely healed. After everything they did last night, Sam honestly thought it would take longer. The fact that it hasn't worries him. 

He opens the door, blinking at the light, and takes in the woman standing outside with a raised eyebrow. 

"Prince," she says, voice soothing. "I apologise for waking you but I have something you requested. It is ready when you are." 

Chills run down Sam's back. The Goblet of Barbatos, it's here and ready for him to use. Sam turns halfway, glances at Dean, who is sitting up in the bed, sheets pooled around his stomach, eyes narrowed even though they're still crusted with sleep. "Call Caésinha," Sam murmurs, turning back to Vetis. "Tell him I want him here, keeping an eye on Dean while I talk to our queen. Make it fast." 

Sam shuts the door on Vetis, goes over to his duffel and starts pulling out clothes. Dean stands up; Sam can hear the sheets drop and doesn't turn to look, doesn't want to be distracted. 

"Where are you going?" Dean asks. He sounds worried, angry, like every time Vetis stops by, but there's a deeper fear to his voice. Why it's there, Sam can guess but doesn't know for sure. 

"I'm needed," Sam says. He pulls on socks, sneakers, then a t-shirt over his head, grabs his coat. "I won't be long. Stay here." 

Dean glares, says, "Like hell I will," but then there's another knock on the door. Dean yanks on a pair of Sam's pyjama bottoms, strides over to answer the door, starts to say, "We're a little busy here," then stops abruptly. 

Sam can feel Caésinha and calls out, "It's safe, Caésinha. Come in." 

The man who's hosting Caésinha does as directed, gives Sam a mocking little nod and says, "Good morning, general. You look a bit rough around the edges." 

"I'd be more careful if I were you," Vetis snarls, following Caésinha inside the motel room. "Wasn't it just a few days ago you pissed off the prince enough to be banished from his side?" 

Caésinha flushes but doesn't argue. 

"What the hell is going on?" Dean asks, hands on his hips, staring at Sam. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" 

"The prince is needed," Vetis starts to say. 

Sam lifts up a hand and Vetis stops talking immediately, just as Caésinha freezes in place. Sam knows he's overreacting but after last night, after the past week, knowing what he's about to do, he doesn't have any patience left in him. "I need to go and take care of something," Sam tells his brother. Dean glares but Sam adds, "And I need you to stay here. Caésinha will stay with you and he has my permission to keep you _here_." 

Dean's glare turns molten. "You," he says, "are giving permission to a _demon_ to keep me here. Sam, I am going to kill you." 

"I know," Sam says. Dean blinks, startled. "And you'll resurrect me and do it again once you find out why. But I need you to stay here." He pauses, adds quietly, "I need you to be safe, Dean. You won't be safe coming after me and I don't want you left alone. Please, do this for me. Caésinha won't touch you, I swear, but let me do this for you." 

The plea is half a reminder of what happened last night. Sam's demon enough to know that he's using whatever Dean feels sorry for against him. He's a creature of Wrath enough to feel almost triumphant when Dean stands down, steps back, and says, "Fine. But don't think I won't protect myself." 

He's already going for a container of salt and his shotgun when Sam and Vetis leave.

\--

The house isn't far away; Sam keeps one part of his attention on the bond between him and Caésinha, prepared to step in if he needs to. Vetis leads him to the basement and watches him carefully. Sam studies the pentagram already made, looks over the goblet sitting in the middle on a piece of black silk and the knife and piece of chalk on the ground next to it. 

He nods, says, "Thank you, Vetis. I'll call you when I'm done." 

The demon hesitates, almost looks as if she'll ask to stay, but finally leaves with a murmurs, "Good luck, lord." 

Like the last time he used the goblet, Sam settles to his knees in the middle of the summoning runes. He traces Lilith’s sigil into the tuning space with the chalk, then throws the piece of chalk out of the pentagram. The runes shimmer with power that no human can see, chiming as they block Sam's focus from anything outside. Sam takes a deep breath and cuts his arm open, bleeds into the goblet. By the time he’s finished the summoning ritual, his arm’s healed.

“My general,” Lilith murmurs, voice rubbing against Sam’s mind. A pure wave of her power floats out from the goblet, tinged with the smell of blood, and twines around Sam. He fights to stay upright. “Why have you called me, little prince?”

It takes a moment for the question to sink in. It’s been so long since he’s felt Lilith’s presence, her power, and he wants to bask in it, close his eyes and give in to it. Still, she’s waiting for him and on him; it’s never good to keep the queen waiting. Sam pulls himself together, says, "A bargain, Lilith. Question for question, like last time." 

Lilith hums, the noise thrumming outwards from the goblet, riding into Sam and making him gasp. She laughs, a low and throaty sound; Sam bows his head and can guess what she's going to say. "Come now," she says, laughter still threading through her words, "when do we ever do the same thing more than once, hmm? No, Samuel. Something new. Tell me why you called me and I shall demand payment once I know what is required from _my_ end." 

Even knowing this isn't a good idea, Sam doesn't have it in himself to argue with her. She's his queen. More than that, Lilith is -- he wants to say everything, thinks it, then remembers he has Dean waiting for him somewhere, probably worried and hating that Sam's gone off without saying anything. Lilith isn't everything. She never has been.

"Knowledge," Sam says. "That's all, Lilith. I have a question and I need an answer." 

"Need," Lilith purrs, "is such a _strange_ word. Such an," she says, pauses, and Sam can imagine her licking her lips, can feel the tips of her fingers gliding across his shoulders, dipping under his shirt collar, "odd and _human_ turn of phrase."

Sam swallows. He's already kneeling but he slumps further down now, bends his head until his hair falls away from his neck. Lilith's sigil, pressed against his wrist, warms up and sends fire shooting through his body. Sam shudders, has to grit his teeth to keep from coming. "Forgive me," he says. For what, he doesn't know and can't specify.

There's a long moment of silence. Sam isn't sure what Lilith is going to say; she's capricious, yes, but even her moods have methods underneath. What lesson she's trying to teach him, what aspect of hell's conduct he's supposed to learn, Lilith will make sure he understands by the time they're done. 

"Tell me what you want, Samuel," Lilith finally says. "What has driven you to contact me at the risk of your brother's wrath?" 

Sam bites his lower lip and tries to let the mention of Dean slide off of him. "I heal," he says, flat and abrupt. "Like a demon." Lilith is silent. The tendrils of her power still. "Dean and I noticed it last week. We fucked for eight hours. He whipped me, bit me, prayed over me. He left me alone for a few minutes and I healed completely. It's gotten faster since then. Nothing stays. I asked Ruby but she didn't." 

Lilith's power whips out of the goblet, strikes Sam across the face and cuts in deep. His head turns to one side with the force of her blow, blood spattering across the summoning circle. Sam pants, tries to clutch the floor with one hand, nails breaking against the concrete. His tongue lies heavy in his mouth. 

"I wish to see this for myself," Lilith finally says. "Sycorax will make the arrangements." 

Before Sam can argue, the blood in the goblet bursts into flame and the summoning runes each disappear in a spat of smoke. Sam's left kneeling on concrete, feeling like he's been torn to shreds. He has nothing to show for it but a hand already healed and the promise of Sycorax. 

This is not good. 

\--

Sam wraps the goblet back up in the piece of black silk, sits there on his knees for a moment longer. He'll need to go back and warn Dean now, figure out when Sycorax will be arriving and if Lilith will really be accompanying him. The thought of her on the surface of the planet, outside of hell, doesn't bode well. 

He hears movement, doesn't bother turning. The bond between him and Vetis is strong, freshly renewed with their physical closeness, and thrums with indolent sensation. 

"Dean's going to kill me," he says. 

Vetis snorts but doesn't actually _say_ anything as she steps to the edge of the summoning circle and offers Sam a hand. Sam looks up at his second, sighs at the expression on Vetis' face. The demon waits as Sam leans forward, breaks the circle, and pulls when Sam clasps Vetis' hand. 

"I don't know why you all hate him so much," Sam grouses, dusting off his knees. He sounds petulant but doesn't care; this thing all the demons have against Dean is getting really fucking old. If they'd accept it and learn to work around it they'd have better luck prying the two of them apart. 

On second thought, maybe it's best if they keep hating him outright. 

"He won't kill you," Vetis says once Sam's ready to leave the basement, goblet tucked under her arm. "I doubt he'll even punish you, not when he knows you like it." 

Sam bites his lower lip. "He'll find a way," he says, low and quiet. His free hand rises, unbidden, to touch the collar. Lilith didn't even mention it. He wonders if she noticed it or merely assumed her sigil was still around his throat. 

Vetis, one step behind Sam, laughs. The noise echoes in the basement, precedes them up the stairs. "You are the prince," Vetis says, simply, as if that's enough to explain anything away. "What can a human do to you?" 

"More than enough," Sam says. Vetis inhales as if she's going to argue, so Sam snaps, "Drop it, Vetis. _Now_." His voice resonates with command. 

"As you wish, my prince." 

\--

Sam tells Vetis that he can get back to the motel by himself, gives her orders to take the goblet and put it somewhere safe. Vetis starts to protest but Sam's nerves are shot; he twists the connection between them until Vetis is on her knees, panting out an apology. 

"You try my patience," Sam says in a low voice he never knew he possessed. The words echo with power, hum with authority, and Vetis bows, puts her forehead on the floor. "See that it doesn't happen again or I will rethink my choice of your position." 

Vetis sits up enough to nod; her eyes are filled with something approaching awed reverence. "I swear it," she whispers. "Forgive me, prince. I swear I will not question you again." 

Something in Sam breaks, hearing her pledge. Yes, Vetis has trusted him, served him, but now Vetis fears him as well. Fear will keep demons in a much stricter line than love; to cause Vetis to fear him is to prove that he's becoming more demon than human, even apart from whatever's causing him to heal. 

\--

Sam jogs back to the motel, slows down to a walk when he sees an unfamiliar person sitting on the hood of the Impala. He reaches out, senses the demon inside of the human, and swallows. 

Sycorax. Sycorax is here already. 

The man doesn't say anything, just gives Sam a secret smile and lets Sam see the open door to the room he and Dean are sharing. Sam walks inside, stops and sighs. Dean's sitting on a chair inside of a salt circle, loaded shotgun on his lap. Caésinha's perched on the edge of one bed, watching Dean the way a snake might watch its prey. 

"There's another one outside," Dean says the instant he sees Sam. 

"I know," Sam says. He bites his lip, looks at Caésinha and tilts his head to the door. Caésinha doesn't move right away and Sam's eyes narrow, fill with hellfire. The demon stands gracefully and inclines his head, leaving silently. "Close the door behind you," Sam adds. He hears Caésinha pause and turns to look at the demon as he sends a wave of cold displeasure toward the host. 

Caésinha flinches, eyes flooding black, and this time bows to Sam. "Of course, general. As you will it." 

The demon leaves and closes the door as he steps out of the room. 

Dean is up instantly, moving to where Sam is. Sam has just enough time to turn back and face his brother before Dean's landed a punch on his jaw, knocking him back a step. Sam looks at Dean, raises an eyebrow. "Do you feel better now?" 

"The hell _was_ that?" Dean asks, fury written into every line of his body. "Leaving with me with a _demon_ , first, and going off without telling me what's going on? Sam, you said I'd kill you if I knew what you were up to. Jesus Christ, what's going on?" 

Sam lets the name of God strike at his face, turns and spits blood out of his mouth, can feel the skin knitting together a handful of seconds later. Every part of his body aches, not from any physical injury, and he's so _tired_. He sits on the edge of the bed, where Caésinha had been minutes ago, and hates himself for being surprised when Dean sits next to him, wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

"If I'm gonna kill you," Dean says, "I want to know why. Okay? What's going on?" 

"I need to find out why I'm healing," Sam says. Dean makes a noise of agreement and waits; they both know there's more to the story than that. "Ruby didn't have any ideas but she suggested I ask Lilith." At Dean's growl, as Dean's working up to say something fueled by fury and fear, Sam looks at his brother, takes Dean's face in his hands. "I need to know, Dean. She's the only one who can tell me. If there was any other way, I'd leave Lilith alone. But this, what it's doing to me. I have to know. And I know you're angry and I'm scared, but I _have to know_." 

Dean reaches up, covers Sam's hands with his own and then moves them from his cheeks. He twines his fingers in with Sam's, looks down at their hands. "You talked to her," he says.

It isn't a question and Sam doesn't treat it like one. He'd keep quiet if there wasn't more to confess. "She wants to see it for herself," Sam says, soft as a whisper in the otherwise silent room. "The demon outside, that's Sycorax." Dean stiffens, must be remembering the demon from the crossroads, from other things Sam's said since he's been back. "Lilith's coming up to earth to see it for herself." 

Sam swallows, hangs his head. He doesn't know what Dean's going to do, how Dean's going to react. Hell, _he_ hasn't settled on a reaction yet. His heart's still pounding at the thought of Lilith let loose on earth but his blood's boiling in his veins at the idea of seeing his _queen_ so soon. He's human enough to fear her presence on the planet but demon enough to yearn for it. 

"Lilith," Dean says. "And Sycorax. Here. Any others?" 

"I don't know," Sam replies. He hunches his shoulders, tries to make himself appear smaller. "I doubt Lilith would leave hell without an escort. Coming to see me, she might bring more. I just. She's the queen. I don't know what she'll do." 

Dean's silent for a long moment, then he asks, "Will she give you an answer?" 

Sam blinks, looks at Dean. His brother's face is blank, voice just as even to match. "I. There's no guarantee. I hope so. Dean." 

"I'm going with you." Dean's not expecting argument. Sam weighs the comfort of having Dean at his back against the worry about putting Dean and Lilith within one hundred miles of each other. "She'll have to get used to me sooner or later," Dean goes on to say. "Might as well be sooner."

Dean's reached up, is stroking Sam's collar. It comforts both of them but how will Lilith see it? She'll resent Dean's possessiveness, that's for sure, and after all the time that Lilith spent trying to get Sam to renounce Dean, to see Sam wearing Dean's collar, well. She's not going to like that. Sam won't take the collar off, though, not even for his queen. 

"Okay," Sam says. He scoots over on the bed, twists so that he can put his head in Dean's lap. Dean traces his finger along the skin above the collar, runs one hand through Sam's hair while the other rests on Sam's shoulder. 

\--

Sam doesn't know how long they sit there like that, but it's still not long enough when there's a knock on the door. Dean swears under his breath and starts to move. Sam doesn't, just turns his head and looks up at his brother, question written in his eyes. Dean studies him, then nods and settles back onto the bed. Sam closes his eyes and calls out, "It's open. Come in, Sycorax." 

He hears the door open, hears Sycorax walk in and shut the door behind him. Sam feels Sycorax's eyes on him and tenses the minute Sycorax sees the collar; there's no mistaking the reason behind Sycorax's gasp. 

"Time was," the demon says a moment later, "you said you were no one's property. That you felt as though you deserved the ninth circle for betraying your human family. And now I see you wearing the collar of that same family. Have you turned into nothing but a possession, Sam? Reduced to the status of a loyal dog in an attempt to beg forgiveness?"

"He's not a dog," Dean says, hint of a growl in his voice. His hands are tight, digging into Sam's shoulder and scalp. 

Sam sits up, leaves one hand to rest on Dean's thigh. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, feels the collar tight around his throat. "Stop teasing him, Sycorax. Dean offered out of love; he didn't need to and he didn't do it to prove a point. As for me, you know, better than anyone, that wearing any kind of collar is my choice."

Sycorax sighs, puts his hands on his hips. "Will you not allow me my fun?" he asks, pouting. "It is so rare, after all, that I come to the planet." Sam tries but he can't help the smile. Sycorax sees it, pounces like a cat might on a mouse caught out in the open. "Ah, haven't you missed me, Sam? Hell's been a lot quieter without you, quiet and dull. Are you ready to come back home?" 

Dean tenses; Sam can feel the muscles shift beneath his hand. He digs in with his nails as best he can, shakes his head just enough for Dean to see. 

"I'm fine where I am, Sycorax," Sam says. "What arrangements have you made for Lilith's visit?" 

"All business," Sycorax says, shaking his head. "Pity, Sam. Well, if you'd like to get down to it, you _are_ the prince and I am just a lowly messenger sent by our queen. The warehouse where you exorcised a demon last night, you remember how to get there?" 

Dean snorts. "No shit, Sherlock. It's pretty much just down the street. We're not _stupid_." 

Sam gives Dean a look, takes Dean's rolled eyes as assent. He turns back to Sycorax, says "We'll be there at sunset. Is that good enough?" 

Sycorax spreads his hands, inclines his head. "You do us honour with your presence, prince, but are you sure you won't come now? 'Go and play till the light fades away,' as your Blake once said?"

"Not today," Sam says. He pauses, asks, "Do you know who else is going to be there?" 

Straightening, hands falling to his sides, Sycorax gives Sam a smile full of shadowed promise. "I do, Sam. But I've sworn to keep it to myself. And if there's one thing you know, it's that the right hand of the ruler is bound by the vows they swear. Stay safe until sunset, Sam. Lilith would be disappointed to find her trip made in vain." 

Sycorax leaves. Once the door's closed and Sam's alone with Dean, he lets out a sigh, leans into Dean. "I'm sorry," he says. 

It takes long minutes for Dean to say, "I know." 

Sam feels something inside of him break. He grits his teeth, ignores it. He can't doubt Dean, can't doubt what they have, not with Lilith coming to see him, to push and poke at him the way only she can. He has to be strong, for himself and for Dean as well. 

"We should try and get some sleep now," Sam says. "Maybe something to eat. Not much, but." He trails off into silence.

"There's some soup in the car," Dean murmurs. "We can warm it up in the microwave and then go back to bed." Sam, tired as he is, moves to stand. Dean prods him back to the bed, though, and says, "I'll get it." 

He slips outside before Sam can react. For the longest time, Sam doesn't think Dean will be coming back. He reaches up, touches the collar, and goes into the bathroom. He's done throwing up and has filled two glasses with water by the time Dean comes back inside, three cans of Campbell's in his hands. 

\--

They eat and sleep, Sam curled up in as small a ball as he can make himself, Dean's back the only thing Sam can see. The alarm's set for an hour before sunset; they had to look the time up to figure out the exact minute. Dean had protested, said something about the spirit of the law rather than the letter, and Sam had snapped back, "That's not the way Lilith works, Dean. We'll be there the moment of, not a second before and not a second after." 

The alarm goes off and Sam wakes instantly. He doesn't both showering and he doesn't bother dressing up. Knowing Lilith, he'll be naked and in pain within minutes; there's no point trying to impress her. A pair of his oldest jeans, sneakers without socks, a t-shirt already covered with bloodstains and a ragged hoodie, and Sam's ready to go. Dean eyes the outfit with a gleam in his eyes that means he knows exactly why Sam's wearing what he is. 

"We should go," Sam says, fifteen minutes before sunset, the first either of them have spoken since lying down. Dean grunts acknowledgement and moves to the door, swipes the keys off the table while he's moving. "Dean, you don't," Sam starts to say. 

Dean stops mid-stride. The line of his shoulders are speaking louder than Dean ever could and yet Dean still says, "You are _not_ going to tell me I don't have to go, are you? Because if you do, not only will you be wasting your breath, I'll beat the shit out of you before we ever get to Lilith."

Sam exhales, says, "It won't be pretty, Dean. You might regret going." 

"Do you regret saving my life?" Dean asks. 

"No," Sam breathes. "Not for a second." 

Dean nods, starts walking again. "Then get moving. I hear it isn't a good idea to keep the bitch waiting." 

Sam has the momentary urge to tell Dean to watch his language around Lilith, to be respectful and keep his mouth shut and not say anything that might disturb her. By the time he bites it back, Dean's standing next to the Impala and giving him a look. Sam gives Dean a forced smile and hustles outside. 

\--

The drive is quick but feels like it takes forever. The Impala's crackling with tension, too much to move a knife through, and Sam almost stumbles out of the car when Dean parks it at the warehouse. He takes a deep breath, looks around and sees the two vans parked down at the other end of the building. 

"Why a warehouse?" Dean asks. "Demons are always shacking up in warehouses." 

"Easier to clean the blood or burn the building down," Sam replies. He doesn't even have to think about it, something that has Dean turning to look at him with wide eyes. Dean shakes his head, checks his watch, and Sam says, "It's time. Dean, are you _sure_." 

Dean's eyes narrow, glimmer with something that reminds Sam of Wrath. "I told you, Sam," he says. 

"I know," Sam says quietly, cutting his brother off. "But this is Lilith we're talking about. I want you to be absolutely, positively sure, Dean. No doubt, no hesitation. I won't think less of you if you want to wait for me out here. Hell, I'd probably be relieved."

"You're not getting rid of me that easy," Dean mutters, stomping around the Impala and knocking Sam with his elbow. "Let's get this over with." 

Sam nods, leads Dean to the door. With a deep breath, Sam turns the handle just as the sun's sinking beneath the horizon. 

\--

A quick look first, and Sam counts ten demons. None of them are in their true form, have all possessed humans, and Sam only recognises Ruby and the ones he's already seen today: Vetis, Caésinha, and Sycorax. He doesn't have time to figure out who's who of the rest of them before Dean follows him inside. The door clangs closed and the lock turns. Dean looks at it, looks at Sam, and then the demons. "Nice entourage," he mutters. 

The little girl in the crowd steps forward. Her eyes are clouded white. Sam drops to a knee instantly, bows his head. "Queen," he says, the word echoing in the silence of the warehouse. "It is good to see you." 

Lilith laughs, the child's voice doing nothing to contain Lilith's throaty purr or the wave of power that comes slinking out of the host's body along with the sound. Tendrils of her power caress Sam's face, slide against his skin; Sam turns boneless, heavy and weighted down with the feel of her. 

"My little general," Lilith says. "It is good to see you, as well. Can I not convince you to return home with us? We will be _more_ than pleased to test the limits of your new skill there." 

"Sam's home is _here_ ," Dean snaps. A moment later, he reels backwards, handprint blooming on his face. 

Lilith doesn't look away from Sam to say, "You shouldn't speak in the presence of your betters, Dean Winchester. Our use for you is over and done. Do not try my patience." 

The same words Sam snarled at Vetis only hours ago, now coming out of Lilith's mouth. Sam swallows at the comparison, the implication. He stands to his feet and moves in front of Dean. Lilith sees the positioning and the smile she gives Sam is hard and holds an edge of betrayal. Sam's mouth dries. 

"Will you not greet your loyal subjects, Samuel?" Lilith asks, hands moving casually to gesture at the other demons gathered there. "Some of them have come long distances to witness this." 

Sam nods at Ruby first; she crosses the distance between Lilith's group and Sam, gives him a hug and, with a mocking little smile at Dean, a peck on the lips. Sam aches for more but holds back, wraps one arm around Ruby and pulls her tight, flush against his body. Dean, behind him, presses close to the other side of Sam. 

Lilith laughs, asks, "Why, Sam. Have you chosen a new right hand?" 

"No," Sam says, evenly. "Vetis," he murmurs, beckoning Vetis forward with one finger. 

Vetis crosses the same space as Ruby had and drops to a knee in front of Sam. "Prince," Vetis murmurs, the woman's voice low, careful. "You honour me." 

Sam doesn't tell Vetis to move and so the demon doesn't, stays on one knee as Sam scans the rest of the assembled demons. "Sycorax," he says, nodding. Sycorax nods back but stays at Lilith's right hand; he'll never leave that position, not during something like this. "Wrath and Lust," Sam says next. "I didn't think you'd be leaving hell."

"And miss this?" Lust asks, tossing her host's hair behind her shoulder. "Hardly." Her eyes gleam. 

"She's right," Wrath adds. "I smell blood about to be spilled."

Dean leans close, murmurs right into Sam's ear, "Didn't Ruby kill that one?" 

As she told Sam, word for word, Lilith says, "My Magnificent Seven can never be destroyed, Dean Winchester, not so long as humanity exists. You recreate them at every turn, with every breath." 

Her smile is cat-like and sends chills up and down Sam's spine. He wants to crawl across the floor and wait, kneeling, at her feet, wants to prostrate himself before her and beg for her favour. He won't, though, not with Ruby and Dean holding onto his arms, not with Vetis blocking the way. He wants to worship Lilith, but he is the prince. He is worthy of worship of his own.

Wrath and Lust stay near Lilith, as do the next three Sam names: Sonneillon, Agares, Orobasya, the _shedim_ Sam exorcised in Ogunquit, all of them in male bodies. Sam turns to the last demon, says, "Caésinha," and holds out one hand. 

For a moment, Caésinha looks like he's going to stay where he is. Sam readies himself to let loose with enough power to convince Caésinha it's in his best interest to move. Before he does, Caésinha steps out from his place behind Lilith, sashays his way over to Sam. 

"You don't expect me to kneel, I hope," he says with a warm laugh. Sam stares at the demon, lets fire burn in his eyes. Caésinha's laugh tapers away into nothing, smile sliding off his face. The corners of Sam's lips quirk and Caésinha's pressed to the ground, has to scramble to do so with a modicum of dignity. Sam's not gaining the demon's love by forcing the issue but, then again, Caésinha is one of Pride's. He'll never love Sam. The most Sam can hope for is his fear. 

Lilith claps; the sound makes Dean flinch. "You are a pretty group," Lilith says, smiling wide. "My prince and my princess, his right hand and close servant." Lilith's grin turns bloodthirsty, sharp, as she adds, "And my prince's prophet and chosen consort, to hear Sycorax tell the tale. A pretty group, indeed. So enlighten me, Samuel, why are we here?"

Dean opens his mouth but Sam elbows him; the action isn't discreet enough to escape Lilith's notice, nor any of the other demons they're facing. Wrath opens her mouth to say something about it; Lilith holds up one hand and Wrath quiets, fuming with the order but obeying it. 

"I heal," Sam says. "Like a demon. Fast and without signs of the hurt. I want to know why it's happening and why now."

Lilith tilts her head, little-girl curls brushing her shoulders. "I'd like to see proof," she says. "Sonneillon, you shall whip the prince so that we may study this, this _healing_ in action." 

Before Sam can stop him, Dean steps forward, past Vetis. "No one's touching him," Dean says, hint of a growl in his voice. "You said it yourself, chosen consort, right? He's mine. No one else is gonna be touching him." 

"We already have," Lilith says. Her tone of voice sounds so at odds with the smile on her face, with the body she's wearing. "Deeper and in far more intimate places than you ever can or ever will, Dean. How does that make you feel?"

"If anyone is going to be hurting Sam," Dean replies, voice cold as ice, "I will. He might have given himself to you, but he did it for _me_. I own him." Before Sam can bristle and Lilith can laugh, Dean adds, "And he owns me. We're a package deal, sweetheart. So back the fuck off and let me deal with him the way I want. You're only here to give us answers."

Lilith's smile, when it comes, is edged in furious humour. "But I haven't yet seen the proof of the question. Perhaps there are subtle things you wouldn't pick up on, being _human_."

Dean's answering laugh is not one of amusement. "And perhaps there are things you don't know about Sam, since you're nothing but a demon bitch." 

Sam winces, steps around Vetis. Ruby moves with him as they stand in front of Dean. "He is my chosen consort," Sam says, eyes lowered to the ground even as his head is held up straight. "It is within his right to and in accordance with our laws that he administer any beating. The only one who might gainsay his word would be Ruby's, but she hasn't and she isn't going to."

"When I make demands, I expect obedience," Lilith says. Her voice slides against Sam, winds around him and traces the curve of his neck, under the collar. "I expect it _instantly_ , little prince. I know you have not forgotten _that_ , out of all your lessons in our domain." 

Ruby steps to the side and Sam kneels on the warehouse floor right where he is, Vetis and Caésinha still on their knees as well, behind him. Sam takes off his shirt, tells the two demons to get up and stay out of the way. Caésinha flounces back towards Lilith but Vetis moves slowly, reaches out a hand to touch Sam and opens her mouth. Sam shakes his head; Vetis turns her back, follows Caésinha. 

"You will need tools," Lilith says, lifting her head imperiously and staring at Dean. She cocks a finger and Agares brings forward a large duffel bag, drops it in front of Dean. "All of the implements inside should be familiar to your brother. Entertain me, Dean, or someone else will."

Sam turns his head, watches as Dean unzips the duffel, stretches it open. Dean's jaw works and Sam can see his brother's knuckles turn white. He wonders what's inside but then Dean pulls out a large, crooked needle made of bone and stained with blood. Sam pales, sways on his knees. That needle, Sycorax tore out Sam's _sartorius_ muscle and threaded it on that needle, used the needle to sew his lips shut. 

Dean gingerly sets the needle down on the warehouse floor, takes out a small knife, the one Sycorax used to fillet Sam's skin off, then a crop, then a whip, then three more knives. The bag's shape has changed but it's still full of things, toys and tools; Sam wonders what Lilith's brought up from hell and, more telling, what she hasn't. 

"I hope you know what you're doing," Dean mutters, fingering a whip. "Are you sure you." 

"Dean," Sam says, meeting his brother's eyes. "Please. I'm asking this from you. I know you remember Miami." Dean flushes but nods. "I want that from you and I'm asking for it," his lips quirk but not in humour, "in front of witnesses."

Dean crouches down, studies Sam like Sam's a book written in a language Dean's never seen. "You've never. You didn't say, Sam," Dean says. "Not once." 

Sam lifts a hand, trails his fingers down the handle of the whip, then across Dean's wrist. "I know."

Dean flinches as if Sam just punched him. 

Lilith laughs, claps her hands. "Are we done with the touching confessions, Sam? It shouldn't be necessary to convince your consort to do his duties. He should be eager, foaming at the mouth for the opportunity. Perhaps your choice should be reconsidered." 

Sam looks at Lilith, at the child she's wearing, and says, "Dean? You should take the bracelet off. I wouldn't want anything to hurt it." 

Every single one of the demons drops their eyes to Sam's wrist, the one he's holding out towards Dean. He watches as they pale, realising what the sigils represent, as their eyes widen in disbelief, as they look for a reaction from Lilith. She just raises an eyebrow, tilts her head to one side, and waits. 

Dean glances at Sam, then at Ruby; Sam knows his brother's more than aware of the undercurrents floating through the warehouse even if he can't understand the nuances of them all. He reaches out for Sam's arm, holds it steady with one hand as the other undoes the clasp and takes off the bracelet proclaiming Sam's lineage and alliances. With a dismissive toss and a glare at Lilith, Dean throws it behind them. 

The noise echoes on the floor for a long, frozen moment. 

Lilith finally moves, snaps out, "Begin," and there is no mistaking the venom in her voice. 

"There's nothing here to warm him up with," Dean says back, just as poisonous. 

Sam's eyes search out Ruby; she looks as worried about this as Sam feels. 

"Our dear little prince," Lilith says, and though her tone is soft, it is also without give, satin-covered iron, "does not need to be _warmed up_. _Begin_!" 

The warehouse shakes with her command. Sam bends his head, practically to the ground. The next thing he feels is a hand in his hair, digging in and pulling hard as it rips him upwards so fast Sam wonders about whiplash. Dean's in front of him, pupils tiny as though he's seen a bright, unyielding light, but there's resolve in the set of his jaw, shoulders. 

Dean gives Sam a look and Sam nods.


	3. Chapter 3

Contrary to Lilith's declaration, Dean starts with his hands, massaging Sam's shoulders and back. He begins hard enough to feel good, not enough to hurt, then digs in more when the blood's flowing and Sam's relaxed, using pressure and nails to leave white and red marks over Sam's skin. 

Sam lets his head droop forward, baring the nape of his neck; Dean leans forward and one point and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just below the collar. Sam knows that Dean's doing it more to piss Lilith off than out of any true desire but he doesn't care, savours the feeling of lips and Dean's hands. 

When Dean's ready, he picks up the snake whip, lets it roll to the side to test the weight and fall. It doesn't make a sound, doesn't crack or snap, and yet Sam can hear it and shivers at the noise. He straightens up, knees aching; his feet are tingling numb already. He knows what's coming, knows the pain of the whip and that Dean's angry enough to not hold back, and he stares at Lilith, letting her see how much he's anticipating this.

The first fall strikes Sam across the back of his legs under his ass. He moves with the blow, winces at the strike of pain that settles in seconds later even as he's getting hard. The next hits his back -- not his kidneys or spine but the area around his shoulderblades. Usually Dean's more careful than that, doesn't want Sam to get _injured_ , but Sam can already tell that Dean doesn't care about that right now, not with Lilith here and watching, not with Sam admitting to hiding things. They've tried to be honest with each other, have tried so hard to be clear and open and up-front; Sam hasn't been, not entirely, and Dean's taking it out on him now. 

"Hold out your arms," Dean orders. Sam does as directed and complies immediately, arms outstretched with his palms turned to face the ground. The whip strikes his upper left arm, then the right, then Dean makes the whip crack as the falls hit his lower arm and curl around. It's an amateur's mistake or an expert's decision; Dean isn't an amateur, not anymore. Sam's skin splits open and bleeds and he feels the pain of the impact sink deep inside, something like betrayal, like Envy woven together with Wrath. 

Dean keeps going until Sam's skin is red, littered in white lines of welts and scarlet lines of blood. His entire body is thrumming and on the verge of going numb with pain; it would be brilliant if not for the way Lilith's leaking power. Every time Dean strikes him with the whip, Lilith caresses him from across the room, surrounds him with her feel and taste and scent until she's all he can see and hear and smell. It gets to the point that Sam can't tell the difference between her touch and the touch of the whip, feels them strike his body together, and he pants, says, "Lilith," eyes closed and hair sticking to his skin with sweat. 

The whip pauses and Sam keens in loss. He's lost in a haze of Lilith's burning but he can't smell hellfire or sulphur, can't taste her anymore; he opens his eyes and blinks at the light, unexpected after so long, vision clouding before it slams into focus. Dean is standing in front of him, hands at his side, eyes wide. 

"Sam?" Dean asks, brow furrowed in confusion, that or fear. Sam's too out of to tell, everything in him wanting to fight to get Lilith back, to get closer to her, everything except the collar around his neck. Dean's collar, and Dean gave him a choice. Dean's been whipping him. Dean's _here_ , among so many demons, for _Sam_.

"Dean," Sam replies, licking his lips and swallowing, nearly choking on his own saliva. "I." He stops there, shakes his head and tries to pull his mind together. He lets his arms fall to his sides and sways, light-headed. Dean drops to one knee, takes Sam's chin in one hand and forces Sam to look at him. "Focus," Sam gasps, as Lilith sends another wave toward him. "I need something to focus on." 

Without hesitation, Dean grabs a knife from the duffel and makes sure Sam's eyes are focused on his. "Ready?" he asks. Sam nods and Dean digs the point of the knife into Sam's shoulder, draws it down and spills blood. 

Sam leans forward, mouths at Dean's lips and hums wordless, panicked pleas until Dean opens his mouth, wraps him in his arms and kisses all of Sam's breath away. Sam's hands move, fingers tightening in Dean's shoulders, and it's all Sam can do to focus on _Dean_ and the new wound in his shoulder rather than Lilith. 

He's dizzy by the time Dean lets him go, dizzy and so utterly confused, mind spinning and the barriers around his gifts weakening at a thousand different points. All he can do is clutch at Dean, try to hold on so Dean can't leave him. 

"What the fuck's going on?" Dean asks as quietly as he can.

It isn't quiet enough; Lilith laughs and Sycorax chuckles, the noises blending to form something large and dark. Sam can feel a chill run through Dean; a chill runs through Sam's body as well but not, he thinks, for the same reasons. 

"It was easier to focus on your brother when he wasn't there," Sycorax says. "Wasn't it, Sam?"

Dean's arms tighten around Sam and he looks halfway over his shoulder as he demands, "Tell me what the hell's going on, you sick son of a bitch." 

Sam can see around Dean to the demons watching. He looks at Sycorax, takes in the bow Sycorax gives to Lilith, the smile on Lilith's face and the frown on Ruby's. It takes longer than it should for everything to make sense but Lilith's still sending her power against Sam, first in gently undulating waves, then in rapid-fire shots like bullets that rain down all over his body, then a cocoon that covers him from head to toe and leaves him dazed when it dissipates. 

"In hell," Lilith says, "our dear, traitorous little general was under my direct protection. You, Sam, shall we say, became _accustomed_ to my presence. It didn't affect you quite so much. But here, on earth, right now, well. It's is a slightly different matter." 

"Different _how_?" Dean asks, wary now. Once Sam can think, he wonders why Dean is cautious now, what has changed, when he should have been this way since they walked into the warehouse, maybe even since Sam stood at the crossroads and spoke one long and winding word of ancient Greek.

Ruby shifts; Sam's eyes move sluggishly to focus on her face, on the shine of her black eyes. "You've seen how other demons react to Sam," Ruby says. Dean nods, and she shrugs. "That's how he's reacting to her."

Dean glances at Sam, pushes a strand of Sam's hair behind an ear, wiping away the sweat from Sam's forehead. "Okay, but why? You aren't. No one else is." 

"We're demons, Dean," Ruby replies. "And I know you wanna argue about Sam, but he's demon enough to count when it comes to this. She's our queen. When we're not under her direct protection and she focuses her power on us, we fold. It's hard-wired into us." 

Sam smiles, rests his forehead on Dean's shoulder and feels the collar tight around his throat as he breathes. "The bracelet," Sam murmurs. "And the collar in hell. If I was wearing either of them, I'd be better." Another wave of Lilith's power crests over him and Sam arches, skin pulling on all of the wounds Dean inflicted, sending a spiral of new, fresh hurt through his body. 

Dean waits until Sam's regained his breath then unwinds himself from Sam, careful and slow. Sam wants to grab hold of his brother but doesn't, can't, as he's trying to fight off Lilith's power even as it creeps inside of him. Sam glances at Ruby and she reads a plea in his gaze, gives him a slight nod. 

With Lilith watching in amusement and all of the other demons she brought from hell frozen in shock, Dean stands up slowly, stretching out to his full height, not holding anything back. He turns, and even as Sam's saying his brother's name, Dean _looks_ at Lilith. "He," Dean says, calm barely held in check, fingers still clenched tight around the whip's handle, "is _mine_. And I don't give a fuck if you have a problem with that, you're going to stop whatever the hell you're doing." 

Lilith's eyes flash amusement even as her hands, curled into fists, tighten with rage. Sam's off-balance from all the power leaking from her now, can feel it battering at his shields and breaking them down with purpose. Queen, he thinks, but Dean is his _brother_ , the one who's always there, the one who gave him the choice of a collar. 

“Mother,” Ruby says, taking one step forward. He looks at his brother, sees shock in Dean's eyes. They'd never told him who Ruby really is. Finding out now, like this, it doesn't make Dean's claim look as firm as it should be. “Perhaps there's a better way to.” 

“I have missed you,” Lilith says, cutting Ruby off. “And I am overjoyed to see you. But I _highly_ recommend you stay out of this.”

Ruby's eyes narrow. She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, not until Lilith turns milk-white eyes on her. Even then, Sam can see the indecision Ruby's warring with, move back and acknowledge her mother's position and claim on Sam, or move forward to pick sides with Dean and everything Dean is to Sam. It would be outright war then, a declaration from the prince and princess that, together, they feel themselves stronger than Lilith. As much as Sam loves Dean, _needs_ Dean, he can't favour Dean and be the cause of a demonic civil war. 

Ruby glances at him; Dean and Lilith are still staring at one another. 

Skin aching, losing feeling in his wrists, Sam shakes his head, just once. Repercussions aside, this isn't Ruby's battle. Dean has to prove himself and do so without help or Lilith will never accept Dean, what he means to Sam and why Sam has done everything in his power to keep Dean safe. Lilith needs to understand how Sam could survive hell for Dean on more than just an intellectual level, without thinking that love for her was all that got Sam through those final hours. 

Ruby steps back, off to one side near Sonneillon. 

Lilith's hands flex, relax. “You could use a lesson, I think,” she murmurs. The words echo in the warehouse. Dean only has time to frown before Lilith lifts one hand, crooks a finger. A chair comes zooming from one corner, wheels rusted and fixed in position, stops abruptly right behind Dean. Sam doesn't need to see Lilith's face; he can tell she's smiling as she uses her power to draw the whip from Dean's hand, force Dean onto the chair, holds his arms and legs tight with invisible restraints. Dean tries to move, tries to fight, but can't get even the slightest bit loose. 

Despite the situation, Dean's bravado doesn't fade. “What do you think you're gonna do, huh?” he spits at Lilith. “If you hurt me, Sam will hate you. And you can't risk that, can you. Not with him more powerful than you'd ever imagined he'd be. Give him the right reasons and he would take you down without a second's thought.” 

“Oh, _Dean_ ,” Lilith says. She moves, walks behind the chair, runs fingers over the line of Dean's shoulders. Sam can see them both now, see the hatred and discomfort written into his brother's eyes, see the amusement on every line of Lilith's face. “I'm not going to hurt _you_. Now sit tight and, let's see. Lust? You brought a gag, I hope?” 

Eyes wide, Dean tries even harder to break free. He can't do it. Like Sam, he can only watch as Lust sashays over, ball-gag in her hands. Lilith caresses Lust's cheek, moves away and crosses her arms over her chest. Lust leans down, kisses Dean, pulls back with blood all over her lips and teeth. 

“Feisty,” she murmurs. “I can see why Sam likes you so much.” Without any more conversation, she shoves the silicone sphere into Dean's mouth and ties the leather straps around Dean's head. Sam winces at the look on Dean's face but feels the barest hint of relief when he sees that the ball's vented. 

Lust strokes Dean's jaw, says, “So pretty,” and looks at Lilith to ask, “Can I stay with him?” 

Lilith's smile is answer enough, and cruel, as well. Lust grins her thanks, straddles Dean's lap, grinds down and licks a few drops of blood from where they're dripping out of Dean's mouth. 

Sam's anger spirals back, seeing someone else with _his_ Dean. The demon inside of him, usually under such tight control, rises up, fills him from head to toe the way it hasn't since hell and his crucifixion. He starts to move, growls when his body won't respond to the wishes of his mind and the outpouring of his gifts gets buffeted away on a wave of Lilith's power. 

“He might be yours,” Lilith says, “but you are mine. Whatever belongs to you belongs to me. And he is a mere human, my traitorous little general. He can't claim one such as you." 

She nods at Sycorax; a moment later, fingers unbuckle the collar from Sam's neck. No one ever does but Dean and only once a month at that, to oil the leather; Dean isn't holding him, isn't touching him, isn't _here_. Sam hangs his head, tries in vain to control the panic as cool air hits his neck. He breathes, doesn't feel anything around his throat, starts to hyperventilate. 

He sees feet in the blacked-out corners of his vision, tiny white Mary Janes, patent leather, with socks that have ruffles and bows. Lilith stands there, gives him something visual to focus on, then reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair. "I did so miss this," she murmurs. Her hand slides around the curve of Sam's cheek, his jaw, then tilts his chin up to look into his face. "And I did so miss your tongue, when you were with us." 

She bends, and even as Sam can hear Dean trying to yell around the gag, Lilith is kissing him. Lilith, his queen, in the body of a child who can't be more than ten. There's no mercy for Sam, not here, not waiting in the afterlife; the mouth pressing against his belongs to his _queen_ and so he parts his lips, lets her take whatever she wants from him.

She uses her teeth, tiny little teeth, to tear his lips apart, to dig into his tongue and bite a piece off; she leans back and smiles, showing off those teeth stained crimson with blood. She spits to one side and Dean yells louder, yanking on the chains, as blood and flesh splatter across the floor. 

Lilith caresses Sam's cheek and as much as he wishes he could be strong, he leans into her touch, closing his eyes. "My daughter listens to you," she whispers into his ear. "I didn't miss your moment of communication. It gladdened me to see it, to know that she listens and to know that she has twined herself so tightly with you. Say the word and I will allow your punishment to come from her hands." 

Sam opens his eyes, stares into Lilith's, sees the demon behind the milk-white eyes. She knows just as well as Sam that seeing Ruby whip Sam, hurt him, would only make Dean hate Ruby more. That can't happen. On the other hand, Ruby is the only one who can, by their own laws, unless Sam cedes the choice to Lilith. 

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. 

Lilith smiles, murmurs, "You once quoted Blake at me, Sam. 'Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained,' isn't that what you said? What is your desire and is it strong enough to break free?" 

Sam closes his eyes again as Lilith's hand moves to his neck, strokes the naked skin and squeezes, nails digging in and drawing blood, fingertips leaving bruises. Already, he can feel his tongue healing. "Sycorax," he breathes, feeling the press of her hand on his throat as he talks. "I."

"Say it louder," Lilith tells him, power thrumming through her voice. Sam can feel it crash against him, through him, feels his barriers weaken even more. They'll break, he thinks, and soon. "Tell everyone what you choose." She pauses, adds with a smile, "And look at your brother while you do." 

Sam opens his eyes in shock, can only stare at Lilith as she smiles and moves out of the way. The chair she bound Dean to, it's facing him, and there are no demons between them. Sam swallows, eyes flicking to Lilith, who nods encouragingly, and to Ruby, who is standing tall and straight and proud, eyes filled with worry. 

Eyes fixed on Dean, Sam takes a deep breath. "Sycorax." 

The demon steps forward jauntily, moves to Lilith's right hand. "Yes, Sam?" 

Without taking his eyes from Dean's, Sam says, "I wish for you to prove my question to the queen." 

Dean's eyes are a maelstrom of emotion: rage, horror, fear, panic. Wrath moves behind Dean, puts her hands on his shoulders even as Lust curls at his feet. 

"You'll hate this," Wrath tells him. "You're going to be _so angry_." 

"Ah," Lust adds, reaching up to cup Dean's groin, "but you'll love it, too. Just you wait and see." 

Sam looks away, drops his head and hides behind his hair as Lilith laughs and sits cross-legged on the floor, as Sycorax moves closer, as Ruby moves away. He doesn't fight as Sycorax calls Sonneillon to his side, doesn't move except as the two demons direct him. They strip him naked, put shackles around his wrists and ankles, chain him to large metal rings nailed into the concrete floor and position him on all fours. 

Dean hasn't stopped trying to get free but the noises of his struggle stop abruptly when Sycorax picks up a scourge and strikes Sam's back without warning. Something sharp in the falls embeds into Sam's skin, pulls flesh away as Sycorax yanks the scourge backwards. Sam makes a choked-off noise of hurt and the chains clank as he tries to shift, tries to move out of the way of the next blow.

"I remember this, Sam," Sycorax murmurs, tracing the falls over Sam's shoulders. Sam tenses, waits for the scourge to dig in. "Do you?" 

Sam does, of course; in hell, the scourge's tails were made from the skin of wrathful in the fifth circle, stretched and soaked in lime as it dried, the falls embedded with pieces of hellfire glass still hot and burning. It was a favourite tool of Sycorax's, in the second day of eternities. Sam doesn't agree, doesn't disagree; he doesn't say anything, simply waits. 

Sycorax growls, takes the scourge and strikes Sam again, this time lower, splattering blood everywhere. "You have a tongue now, Sam, and a voice with which to use it. After all those eternities without hearing you talk, I'd prefer to hear you now." 

"I remember," Sam says. His voice is thin, woven through with agony and hints of ecstasy. "You quoted Shelley." 

The demon laughs, striking Sam's legs, arms, ass, before asking, "Do you remember what I said?" 

Sam remembers everything from both of his stays in the pit. Hell is impossible to forget and Sam's always had a good memory on top of that. "'This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever beside thee like thy shadow hangs, dream not to chase: the mad endeavour would scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, dark as it is, all change would aggravate.'"

Sycorax bends down, licks up a stripe of blood from Sam's back. "Tell me, Sam, what I said afterwards." 

Sam's eyes search out Dean, find his brother immobile in the chair as Wrath strokes Dean's neck and shoulders, as Lust has Dean's jeans open and his dick in her mouth. Dean isn't protesting, probably can't; Dean can't do anything as Sycorax reaches around, takes hold of Sam's cock, hard and aching, and strokes once. Sam can't help arching into the touch, because this might not be the body he's used to but he can still feel _Sycorax_ , the essence of the demon, inside and he's been conditioned to respond to Sycorax. Even if he could fight, Sam's not sure he wants to.

He fights for control as he answers Sycorax's question, fights to focus on Dean and not on the hand pumping his dick. "You said, 'This fiend, Samuel. This shadow that hangs around you, this dream you chase -- you know it's nothing but foolishness.' You told me, 'I will scourge you well enough so that the thought of your brother will fly from your mind. You have one fate, one purpose, and your brother, your precious little Dean for whom you would sacrifice so much and yet nothing at all, does not figure in to it, not even the smallest iota.' And then you scourged me until Lilith came in and healed me."

Despite the two demons focused on Dean, on bending him or breaking him or tormenting him or all three, Dean's eyes are set firmly on Sam's face. After Sam finishes speaking, Dean's eyes widen, then close in what Sam thinks might be despair. 

"Dean," Sam says, and even as Dean's instantly responding, Sycorax steps back, away, and lets the scourge whip into Sam's face. The tanned human skin breaks his nose, his cheekbone, knocks out teeth, the sharp pieces at the falls ripping apart skin and muscles and digging into bone. Sam howls in pain, can't see as his eyes fill with blood, and yet, as soon as he can, he growls out, "Dean, I don't regret it and I never will and _I love you_ , don't forget that, don't ever forget that."

"I'm impressed," Sycorax says, scourges his face again and again and again.

Sam tries to blink the blood out of his eyes but his face is one throbbing mess of agony and even breathing hurts. When small knives, maybe flechettes, are thrown into his back, Sam shakes, collapses to the floor, but doesn't scream. He's too intent on staying conscious, on fighting Sycorax's physical attack and the drifting billows of power Lilith's still sending his way. 

Sycorax moves, the sound echoing in Sam's ears, and then one of the objects in his back grinds in further, down to what feels like a fin. Sycorax used flechettes, then. The demon hums, pushes in another one, and then says, "Impressed against my will. Your capacity for suffering really knows no limits, does it. Sadly," the demon goes on, "we had hellfire to play with before. Earth will never be as good for certain things. Are you _sure_ you wouldn't want to come home, to kneel at your queen's feet and then see the rest of hell kneeling at yours? You remember how much we love you, don't you, Sam? You remember how we ate of your body and drank of your blood, how we bound ourselves to you and pledged ourselves to you, don't you?"

"I remember," Sam says, choking on the words through the torture of his mangled face. He can't _not_ answer, not when Sycorax told him to respond before, not when the memories of what Sycorax is referring to fill something inside of him with pleasure. "Hard to forget that cross." He coughs, blood dripping up out of his mouth, and wonders if he's going to die here, chained to a warehouse floor in Missoula. 

"It was a beautiful moment," Sycorax murmurs, though whether it's to chastise Sam's tone or in honest reverence of the moment, Sam isn't sure. Both, maybe, knowing this demon. 

Sam can't move, can't see, can barely hear through the pressure of blood roaring through his body, but he has enough in him to scream when Sycorax uses his demonic strength to shove a knife through Sam's leg and pin him to the concrete. The scream ends in a cough, a ragged, wet noise that turns into a mewl of anguish when Sycorax slices his other leg open, cuts his hamstring and slices his Achilles' tendon.

Sycorax hums, bends down and traces something around the curve of Sam's ear. It's sharp, pointed, but Sam can't tell if it's a knife or a needle. "You know what I find most fascinating about this?" Sycorax asks in a tone meant to imply confidentiality, though his volume is loud enough to extend over to the other demons. Sam hums in enquiry, the noise all he can come up with. "Do you, my queen?" 

Sam can feel Lilith's smile, even if he can't hear it, even if he can't lift his head to see it. "What I find the most telling sign of our triumph, most likely. I wish him to see this, Sycorax." 

To see what, Sam has a sinking suspicion; it's realised when Sycorax grabs hold of Sam's hair and pulls his head back, stretching his neck. Tears run down Sam's face, stinging as they slide over the ruin of skin and bones, and he blinks as he discovers he can see. His newfound healing talent has kicked in, then; Sam hadn't noticed his back recovering from Dean's whipping in the presence of his other pain but he can feel it now that he's focused on it. 

Lilith skips over to Dean; Sam follows her with his eyes but forgets to breath when she stops and he looks at Dean. Dean's still on the chair, still bound by power and gagged, but Wrath has looped a rope around Dean's neck and pulled it tight. Sam can see his brother's throat rubbed red and raw as he tries to breath. Even worse, Lust is on his lap; from the way she's moving, she's fucking herself on Dean's cock. 

Red-hot fire corkscrews through Sam, starting with the part of him that yields to Lilith as queen and spreading outwards to every nerve of every limb. He didn't go to hell and redeem Dean so that demons could still use him, still mock him and deride him and treat him as their plaything. He didn't suffer for that, didn't concede for that, didn't hang on a cross and _die_ for that. 

The heat scorching his body heals Sam, heals him faster than he's ever healed himself before. Bones knit themselves together in an instant, sinews and muscles reforming and adhering to their proper places, skin sliding back into one unblemished piece. With a thought in her direction, Ruby comes over, pushes Sycorax out of the way and pulls the flechettes from Sam's back, the knife from Sam's leg. Those injuries heal as if they'd never happened; Ruby helps Sam stand up and then waits at his side. 

The ground is covered in blood, in parts of Sam's body, and in come; Sam doesn't remember an orgasm but judging by the mess he had to have had more than one during his time under Sycorax's tender care. With hellfire in his eyes, Sam steps takes one step toward Dean. 

Lust stills, hands pressed against Dean's chest, tilts her head and turns to look over her shoulder. Sam doesn't know what he looks like, doesn't care, but Lust pales, seeing it, and gets off of Dean, falls to her knees and presses her forehead to the ground. It takes Wrath longer to react, hair streaming out behind her, but eventually she lets her hold on the rope loosen. The rope slides to the ground as she steps back; one hand stays on Dean's shoulder even as she watches Sam. 

"Lust has always favoured you," Lilith says, eyes narrowed as she watches with hands on her hips. "And you and Wrath have always been close. But can you cow the rest of them?" 

Sam opens his mouth to answer but Ruby puts a hand on his arm. He tears his eyes off of Dean, turns to look at her. Ruby's not worried anymore; she looks strangely relieved. Sam wonders just _how_ long he let Sycorax have his way. Sam smiles at her, turns to Lilith. 

"He doesn't have to," Ruby says. "He is their prince and he obeys the rules of hell. He always has, mother."

Lilith holds Ruby's gaze, then nods once, a sharp gesture, and turns her attention back to Sam. "You heal," she says. "Drawing from nothing but your own power. That is a demonic gift, one of our few skills, and yet you are still human. You can still die, little prince, and Death is still waiting to hold you in its loving embrace." 

Dean yells something behind the ball gag; Sam's eyes flick to his brother but quickly return to Lilith. 

"You are like nothing we have ever seen before," Lilith continues. "The best of humanity bred with the best of demon-kind."

"Do you know what I am?" Sam asks. "What I can do?" 

Lilith's smile bursts like the sunrise from her lips. "Yes," she replies. 

Sam pauses. He breathes in the smell of hell, the smell of Lilith's power, the feel of her around him,. This time, he pushes it back. He watches as the skin around Lilith's eyes and mouth tighten, as if she's just been struck. "You're not going to tell me, are you," he says. 

"No," Lilith says. "No, I'm not. Not yet." 

The warehouse is unnaturally silent in the wake of that admission, almost as if the entire planet is holding its breath. This is the pinnacle of an event a long time in coming, the focal point of something _big_ , so large that Sam can barely start to comprehend it. 

He waits in the quiet, lets it fill him and calm him before he asks, "Is it something I need to be worried about? Will there be more surprises?" 

Lilith studies him, caught, Sam thinks, in the same atmosphere, the same mood. "There will be more," she finally says. "I choose not to say what or when, but there will be more." 

Sam presses, asks again, "Should I be worried?" 

Ruby tenses as Lilith moves; Dean begins again to fight the power holding him to the chair as Lilith crosses the distance to stand in front of Sam. Sam looks down on her, holds her gaze, and finally drops to one knee. Despite everything, she is _still_ his queen. He belongs to her, as subject, as son and heir, as student, as lover, as everything they've become to one another, as nothing he could ever explain to anyone else. 

"Fear not," Lilith whispers, reaching out with one hand. She places her fingertips on Sam's forehead, holding them there in benediction. "For I am with thee." She bends, not much, and presses a chaste kiss to Sam's lips before breathing over them, "And I will bless thee, my little prince." 

Sam waits until she's standing straight again and taken a step backwards before he says, "I couldn't ask for more." 

Lilith holds his gaze then nods again, this time a slow inclination in recognition -- of what, Sam doesn't know. "I came here with one question in need of answer," she says. "And I have found it." She turns to Sycorax, says, "I am ready to return home. Gather up your toys." 

Sycorax nods, does as directed, and is flanking Lilith a few soundless minutes later. Lilith gestures and the other demons from hell gather around her, the two sins, Orobasya, even Caésinha, who merely shrugs at the raised eyebrow Sam gives her. "I should give Pride an update," Caésinha says in an explanation Sam hadn't expected. "Any message you'd care to pass along?"

Sam smiles, says, "Only that I hope I remain interesting." 

Caésinha frowns; he doesn't understand and Sam hadn't expected him to. Still, the demon nods, agrees without argument for once. 

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Sam asks, this time addressing the question to Lust. She shakes her head, shrugs, and Sam pointedly looks at Dean. His brother's still gagged and bound by power to the chair.

Lust winces, but it's Lilith who lifts a hand and splits the strap in two, sends the ball-gag flying away into a corner of the warehouse. Dean spits, works his jaw and licks his lips. He opens his mouth to speak but Lilith beats him to it, says, "I told you once that I no longer needed you, that you had served your purpose. Perhaps I was wrong, but remember this: my mercy is not without limits, Dean Winchester. I may suffer your life now but believe me, your brother will never hate me, not even if I change my mind and kill you. Resent, yes, dislike, yes, feel any amount of wrath or fury, but he will _never_ abhor me."

"He might not hate you, mother," Ruby says softly. "But things are changing. Things have already changed. Who's to say what will happen next?" 

Sam glances at Ruby, at her eyes, and can't decide if she's making a prediction or a threat. Judging by Lilith's gaze, intense and contemplative, she can't tell either. 

"We have laws," Lilith says, dismissive as she waves Ruby's words off. Neither her tone nor her actions match the look in her eyes or the coiling of her demon, something everyone in the room but Dean can see. "But I grow weary of this planet. Enough." 

Power flakes from Dean and disappears, drawn back into the swirling cyclone of Lilith's demon. It takes Dean a moment to react as if he can't figure out what's happened, but then he's out of the chair and in front of Sam, fingers scrabbling over Sam's naked body, checking for injuries. 

"Are you, Sam, _fuck_ ," Dean mutters. He leans up, kisses Sam, forcing his way into Sam's mouth, taking and plundering much the way Lilith does in Sam's memories. "Are you okay? Sam?" Dean asks, once he's leaned back, searching Sam's face. 

Sam smiles, takes hold of Dean's wrists, and says, "I'm fine, Dean. Relax." Over Dean's shoulder, Sam nods at Lilith, watches as she turns to leave, her entourage following her. 

Dean turns, stares, and when he looks at Sam again, his eyes are narrowed, burning. "Use the spell," Dean urges, with Ruby listening on the other side of Sam. "To kill the demons, the one Ruby mentioned before. Use it now while she's still here." 

Lilith pauses at the door to the warehouse as if she's heard Dean's advice, as if she's waiting for Sam's answer. 

If Lilith were dead, it would make things _so much easier_. Sam would be the uncontested ruler of hell with Lilith gone as well as Ruby, and several of the most dangerous demons would be dead as well, not just exorcised back to hell but truly _dead_. Lust and Wrath would return as they have before but Sam would be in control of them when they did rematerialise. 

And yet. And yet Lilith's right. Sam doesn't hate her, never could and never will. Besides, he knows enough now, even if he has no idea where that knowledge comes from. He's more demon than human and that spell, if he uses it, would kill him along with every other demon within a mile. Sam knows this. There's no way he'd survive and he's not ready to die, not yet, not like this.

Lilith came, not to answer his questions, but to be sure of his allegiance, and Sam knelt. Even after she allowed demons to torment Dean, even after she broke through Sam's barriers and made him ask for a beating at Sycorax's hands, he knelt. He might be traitorous but he isn't betraying her. 

"No," Sam says. Dean protests, as Sam knew he would, but Sam shakes his head. "No, Dean." He pauses, sees Lilith's hands clench into fists, and adds, "The spell would kill me as well." 

That shuts Dean up and has Ruby giving Sam a sharp look, hearing the implication in the denial.

Lilith leaves, still tense, and half of the other demons go with her. 

\--

Sam can feel the tear in reality as Lilith rips a hole back to hell, feels it right itself a moment later along with the absence of demons. He lets go of Dean, turns to face the demons still here: Sonneillon, Agares, Vetis. 

"You have work you should be doing," Sam half-asks Sonneillon and Agares. When they nod, Sam says, "Take your hosts back to their homes and then leave. Take their memories with them; I don't want anyone remembering tonight."

Agares gives Sam a bow from the waist and leaves silently, Sonneillon following him after a clear, "Of course, prince." 

Sam watches them leave, wonders why Lilith brought them. They've always been his, since Herculaneum, since Miami, maybe even since hell. 

"Time to think on it later," Ruby murmurs, standing beside him. Sam glances at her and she adds, "Time enough to think on many things, Sam." 

Sam nods in agreement and tells Vetis to go back to her mission as well. Vetis doesn't hesitate before leaving, adoration in her eyes. That leaves Sam alone with Dean and Ruby, and he turns to them, faces them as they stand there, he three of them points on a triangle formed out of blood and love and hell. 

"You didn't get an answer," Ruby finally says. "Are you okay with that?" 

"Not really," Sam replies, "but it'll have to do for now. There are others I can ask. I'd just hoped I wouldn't have to. But you and me, we'll need to talk, and soon." 

Dean snorts and, when both Sam and Ruby look at him, asks, "Sooner rather than right now, I hope. Can we leave? I know I, for one, would kill for a shower. And if Sam doesn't get some clothes on soon, he's going to get sick." Sam flushes; he hadn't realised he was still naked. 

Ruby grins, laughs for a moment but calms quickly. She looks at Sam, stands on her tip-toes to give him a kiss, a swipe of her lips against his. Dean growls, a bitten-off little noise, and Ruby eyes Dean, clearly considering something. Sam should step in, he knows, before they come to insults or blows but the same sense that told him about Tamara stops him now, keeps him quiet. 

"Things are changing," Ruby starts to say. 

"You've said that already," Dean retorts, even as Sam's thinking that Ruby's said it three times now, that things are changing, that they'll change even more. Dean doesn't seem to notice the surprise in Sam's eyes but Ruby does, gives Sam the shallowest of nods that Dean misses as he adds, "If you aren't going to tell us anything useful, then yeah, I think you should just shut the hell up for now and wait. We need to get out of here, all of us."

Ruby's smile turns predatory. "You, being alive, being what you are," she tells Dean, "are changing things. So watch your back, Dean. There are others who might not particularly care for that." 

Dean frowns but doesn't have time to say anything in response before Ruby's pulling a chain out from under her shirt. She lifts it off from around her neck, shakes her hair out. Sam's eyes are fixed on the sodalite and follow the stone as it swings in the air. 

"I can't use this," Ruby says, "not with the blessings on the chain. But someone like you might be able to." She gestures for Dean to hold out his hand and Sam watches as his brother does, as Ruby drops the necklace into Dean's palm. "Don't lose it, okay? I don't wanna spend another century playing finder's keepers."

Sam stares, feeling something shift widely on its axis before clicking into place between the three of them. He doesn't know what it is, feels even more confused when Dean looks at him and asks, "Did you feel that?" 

Ruby laughs, elbows Sam and says, "I really don't wanna hang around for the after-party this time, I can already tell. I'll see you around, _little prince_." She grins, waves her fingers at Dean, and is at the doorway when she calls out, "Not so little!" and disappears out of a sight a moment later. 

Sam smiles, a foolish little smile, as he stares at the place where she left. He jumps when Dean says, "I take it Tamara's dead." 

"Yeah," Sam says, looking at the ground. "I. Yeah, she is." 

Dean takes that in, seems to realise he can't do anything to change it. For once, Dean appears accepting, rather than resigned; Sam wonders what's changed, whether Dean seeing him act like this was enough to cement who and what Sam is in ways Sam hasn't been able to get across before now. Instead of saying anything more about Tamara, Dean asks, instead, "What should I do with this?" as he holds up the hand with the sodalite necklace. 

"Put it on," Sam says, shrugging. Dean stares down at the necklace and Sam rolls his eyes, takes the chain and ignores the burn of the blessing to slide it over Dean's head. It looks delicate on him, unexpected, and yet Sam can feel the power contained on that chunk of mineral and the chain holding it. It suits Dean, is just as deceptive as his brother, just as beautiful, and Sam looks away before he says something truly embarrassing. 

As if he understands, Dean doesn't say a word, merely tucks the stone under his shirt and says, "The daughter of the queen. Dude. Ruby's the fucking princess of hell -- which, by the way, we'll be talking about later. But she's the princess and, and you're the prince. Are you two, y'know."

"Expected to marry?" Sam asks, stepping away from Dean to pick up his clothes, not looking at his brother. "No." He pulls on his underwear, then his jeans, picks up the shirt and sighs, pulls on his hoodie instead and balls the shirt up to carry, give his hands something to do. He can't look at Dean, too nervous, too, too everything. 

"Hey," Dean says, soft, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam jumps; he hadn't heard Dean move. "Hey, look at me." Sam takes a deep breath and moves, turns to face his brother. "We can talk about this later. I'm probably gonna yell and you are too." 

Sam snorts, mutters, " _Probably_?" 

Dean rolls his eyes, says, "Okay, we're definitely both gonna yell. But at the end of the day, you know." Dean shifts, clearly uncomfortable. Sam watches, some worry deep inside of him eased by the rare show of vulnerability, the concern radiating from Dean in waves, though another fear grows at the scent of Wrath digging claws deep into Dean, hints of Lust and Envy and Greed and Pride along the edges of Dean's redemption.

Rather than force Dean to say whatever he's thinking, whatever he's feeling, and rather than ask about the smell of Lilith's Magnificent Seven, Sam presses a finger to his brother's lips. He shakes his head, backs up, and drops his shirt. Dean's watching; Sam knows full well the feeling of his brother's eyes on him, but he doesn't explain himself, not as he looks out over the floor. When he finds the collar, he hears Dean draw in a breath but Sam picks the collar up and goes back to Dean. 

He drops to his knees, lifts the collar up on both hands, and says, "If you haven't changed your mind, I haven't either. I know we should wait until we talk about this, I do, but if." 

"Oh, please, for the love of _Zeppelin_ , won't you _shut up_ ," Dean groans, snatching the collar from Sam's hands and fastening it with practiced efficiency around Sam's neck. "And don't think you're getting out of explaining things to me. Seriously. _Ruby_? The fucking princess of _hell_?"

Dean turns on his heel, stomps out of the warehouse. A moment later, Sam can hear the Impala start up as Dean honks twice. He stands in the warehouse a moment longer, grinning in the quiet. After everything that happened, every indignity Dean was forced to suffer and everything Dean was forced to see, after every taunt and unwanted touch and ounce of demonic power thrown Dean's way, of course Dean would focus on _Ruby_. 

Sam wonders, just for a moment, if it's because Dean can't stand to think of anything else that happened. His smile fades, then falls completely.


End file.
